It’s still you, sometimes

But I don’t see you much these days

Clarity.

Your voice is echoing through the house greeting the other inhabitants and I am sitting on the couch in the living room. I panic.

Something is welling up in my throat. There’s a tension in my chest. My heart quickens as if it wants to jump out of my rib cage and run its very first marathon.

Serenity.

I want to move but my body is paralyzed. I am frozen. I am glued to this couch and the weight of my limbs has anchored me into a vacuum I cannot leave. I wasn’t ready for this.

Certainty.

Your nervous laughter floats down the hallway. I can sense every tense emotion coursing through your body as you make your way towards the living room. I can hear you wondering whether I’ll be there when you turn the last corner.

I am here, waiting.

But I was always waiting, wasn’t I?


I remember a moment I suddenly realized it’s not you anymore. I mean, it’s still you. But it’s a past you.

A past me. Someone I have long forgotten.

But I have not forgotten you.


I want to cry but I can’t cry anymore.

My throat closes in on itself, my chest has a vice clamping down on either side and every breath is ragged. My lungs are burning.

Nothing.

There is no finale, there is no closure, there is no outburst. Only a poem here, words spilled out in digital ink on virtual paper there, a song trying to impart the enormity of what was lost to an unknown audience.

I haven’t been able to cry since I resolved myself to losing you.

I comforted myself with your presence, I held onto you as long as my fingers could white knuckle grip around your own, but my hands grew sweaty as I closed my eyes and I counted down from ten.


Ten.

We make an enormous journey together. It is a life together. It is the best part of our entire relationship.

Every day continues to be the day you are most beautiful to me.

I would still do anything to see you smile.

Nine.

I am resolved to living out a simple last few months with you. I can hold out for now. It’s our last holidays together.

Eight.

I am waking up to your gentle face. Your eyes smile at me from the pillow and I kiss you softly.

Seven.

I try not to mourn what I know is coming. I feel as if I am watching someone die. I wonder if it is me.

Six.

I realize I am not dying.

Five.

It just feels like dying.

Four.

I am breathing the last pieces of you into my soul. I wonder whether these fragments and bits of shrapnel will make it easier or harder once you’re gone.

Three.

I quietly remind you that decisions need to be made. I can’t wait forever. It’s been so many years already. I need to know.

Can you love me?

Two.

I let you know that it’s okay not to find an answer, but no answer is a decision in and of its own.

One.


It turns out I haven’t seen you lately.