A deep rift opening up below him, and the ground seizing his filthy anklebones and hauling him down toward its slathering jowls. The saliva at ground level was provided by a thin flat creek - Well from that height it appeared flat - but on close inspection it was in fact coated with a layer of sizeable ripples.
Such was his feeling when they had first parted company. Every memorable dream since still contained that flippant girl and this intense feeling, subsequently self-loathing was a regular waking ritual.

I would tell you about the dreams, but in my opinion, other peoples dreams fail to entice or captivate; they simply remind you that your own dreams cannot be real or that the person to whom you are speaking is some kind of sociopath. In any case, its enough to imply that his own dreams were as a large bell making sway in his chest cavity.  

It was easier when he had this feeling before. Before, this feeling arose when he had been mistreated, when he had been wronged and he could hear her noises from her bedroom behind plywood and a plastic cup. Then it was a thick green cordial of Jealousy. Now, when sober, he did not have to convince himself that this girl was a frustratingly vacuous Janus-faced vulgarity, he knew she was, and not worth his rapidly diminishing time.

It was only in his dreams that she reappeared, moonfaced and moonclad in her most underestimated and likeminded state, he would take her hand in his before some cursed dream construct intervened, at which moment she would mutate and become a sallow old friend with a a lute. His body quaked with fear at the loss on every occasion, and the dreaming mind was forced to plug the gap with a deeply unlikely romance from the past. In the mornings he would recollect a shock of understated memories her departure had bequeathed - some had lain dormant since the time they had first been recorded - and it hurt madly.
 
"Replace the vacuum" he instructed himself (earnestly and quite aloud, he his very own life-coach), a process that usually involved food. He'd noticed that at lunchtime - for which he built up huge expectation during the course of a morning's labour - he could no longer contain himself, and ate his sandwich before he had returned to the pre-designated picnic area. Then he returned to the shop to buy another. Then he then sat down and realised he wasn't hungry. He still ate the food, and the next day he looked fatter than before.