He's gone. You can't seem to fathom it. So you go back and sift through the pictures, remembering things about him. His hair. The park. The station. Hugs. Rain. And then it all blurs together. You secretly wish he'd come back. Even though if he did, you might only just push him further away. But you can't stand to be alone. You can't bear feeling unwanted.
No one can know how weak you've become. So you laugh. You make jokes, just like always. No one can know that you're falling apart. You flirt. Meaning stripped away from your words. Because suddenly, no one seems fit to fill the void. Though, when he was there, everyone seemed better than him. What can you do now? Wait until someone comes for you or hope that he will fix it?
No. You only sit in silence amidst the granite walls of your bathroom, a cigarette between your fingers. Your wrist shivers until the ash falls to the floor without a sound. You take a drag, but the feeling you anticipated doesn't come. Instead of a calming buzz, all you feel is nausea. You let the cigarette burn out without smoking it. You watch the orange-red heat eat away at the paper, slowly, quietly, steadily. Like a ring of fire it blackens white. Brown, sweet smelling tobacco burns into a sickly grey ash. Smoke curls like a witch's fingers and rises through the still air. You don't know how to feel inside, so you cry. And once the tears start flowing, the don't seem to stop.
They say that when you cry, you feel better. But you don't. You are dry of tears but the hurt doesn't ebb away. Distract yourself, distract yourself. Put away these thoughts for later. Later comes and the thoughts waterfall over you. You can do nothing but wait for time to bandage you up.
