january
I swear I am over it, then a wave of emotion tramples me to the ground. I do not cry, though my head throbs and my eyes ache with desire to fill my bedroom with a river of tears and yet — I do not get over it.
I grieve for my loss and the life I thought would be. The life that is gone to me forever. Reaching for my phone to message or call the people I loved, only to realize they are dead or gone. Ghosts from the life I do not get, escaping me as I avoid getting close to any one new. Out of shame; out of fear.
Because people always leave, one way or another. Whether it is by choice or by accident. They leave, and I sit back watching as they disappear.
Becoming memories.
Becoming nothing.
Who am I now that I lay in bed alone each night? I am the monster in my own closet, begging to be tamed but biting anybody who dares to come near.
Until nobody dares to come any more.
