[ WP ] Write in the POV of a crazy/psychotic ex . Do not end it with murder .

I think the hardest part is nighttime. 
 
 During the day I'm able to distract myself. There's school. Work. Friends to talk to. But then I come home and the noise of the day starts to wind down, leaving just deafening silence. The space where you used to be, now completely empty. 
 
 The first week after we broke up, there was still a lot of noise. From me, from you, from my friends. I would text you constantly. You would still text back. My friends would come over with bottles of wine, ice cream, and all the chick flicks a girl could ever want to cry her eyes out to. I could feel your absence, and it hurt. But I could still put that pain forward into something. 
 
 Now, you do n't respond to any of my messages. My friends try to hide their eye rolls every time I mention your name, but I still see the boredom and mild irritation as I ask them to help me analyze your latest post on social media. 
 
 I used to feel pain. Now, it's just a big, empty, nothing. 
 
 You told me once about how one of your favorite memories was of visiting the Badlands in South Dakota when you road tripped across the country by yourself. I remember your hands moving back and forth as you described the formations of the rocks, how the sediment changed colors so vibrantly that it was almost like a rainbow. That you hiked down into the canyon and sat for hours, imagining yourself lost in the desert of some otherworldly land. You loved it so much that you pitched a tent and camped overnight. There was nothing down there, you said. *Nothing*. And your eyes filled with this bliss that I have never been able to conjure up on my own. 
 
 I think I understand that story less, these days. Ever since you left, I've been lost in my own desert. Grappling with my own nothing. And baby, it's *horrible. * All that emptiness is *horrible. * 
 
 But it's okay. I figured out the solution to that problem. 
 
 If you're thirsty, and the glass is empty, what do you do? 
 
 You fill it, of course. 
 
 The author Isaac Lidsky said that what he discovered, as he was going blind, was that we fabricate our own reality. The world that we see around us is more our own construct than it is rooted in concrete fact. So if we want to change it, we could do so quite easily. With the power of will, even. 
 
 I realized then that you had n't left me. Our relationship was n't over. Our love was too great to be abandoned. I was n't about to give up on it, and I knew that you were n't, either. You just had to realize it. 
 
 Instead of dreading the evening hours that stretched from the end of the work day until midnight, I started to look forward to them. I blocked out the silence and brought back the noise - no, the *music. * Beautiful, beautiful music. The perfect love song for us. 
 
 First I would simply follow your social media. Everything. Facebook. Twitter. Instagram. I even had access to your email, since you had used my laptop to login to it more than once. I could still keep up with your life, with everything that went on in your day. It was almost like hearing you tell me about it when you came home. 
 
 But soon, that was n't enough. I needed to dig deeper, to make this really work. So I started to follow you. After work. On weekends. I even took a few sick days in order to see where you were on weekdays. Anything, to feel closer to you. And it was working. 
 
 For a while. 
 
 You seemed so happy. But I knew. Oh honey, I could see the sadness behind your smile. The bleak emptiness in your eyes. I knew you were barely making it without me. 
 
 That's when I figured it out. In order to fix our relationship, I needed a catalyst. I needed to make you jealous. 
 
 It did n't take long, swiping through Tinder, to find the perfect fit. We matched almost instantly. The resemblance was uncanny, and I knew you'd see it right away. Same brown hair, and large brown eyes. You could be siblings. 
 
 And at the end of it all, it was surprisingly easy. I knew when you would be out of the house that Friday. I knew when you would return. So I set it all up, timed perfectly: meeting for drinks around 9pm. Drunk and horny by 10pm. Arriving at your place around 10:20pm. Using your spare key to get in. Going into the bedroom. Clothes stripped off by 10:27pm. Right around 10:30pm, you'd open the front door. Notice that something was n't right. Hear strange noises. Grab the bat you keep by the door, and slowly walk to your bedroom. 
 
 10:32pm. Spotlight on me, with your mirror image. 
 
 You'd see. You'd understand. 
 
 You'd know. Just like I do. 
 
 We were always meant to be.
