A Lack of Color
The morning after you left, all I saw was white. It oozed in between my blinds and crept throughout my walls, smearing itself on our photographs, making them glimmer and glint in the light. White plunged into each empty space (chair, hallway, the right side of my bed), and settled in. Like a soy sauce stain on fresh bedsheets. Like filth.
I had gone to sleep the previous night in a trance, chanting to myself: this is all a horrible dream this is a nightmare this is a prank this is not real this is this is this
September 21, 2015: “I don’t love you anymore.”
Three days earlier, you looked at me and asked, “What are you afraid of?” and I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was the last time we’d ever go out together, holding hands. I guess the worst kind of goodbyes are the ones you don’t know you’re making. An impromptu hug underneath a drizzling Vancouver sky, in between two roads and two buses going in two opposite directions, each carrying two halves of a goodbye never said.
I started sleeping with blinds drawn, books stacked in between my body and the window. I grew accustomed to not waking up to your alarm (don’t cry / you can rely on me honey).
Screen shot 2013-06-29 at 6.48.24 PM
please, smile and don’t sink in your worries. you’ll be fine and if we drift apart, there’s always something to remember me by. i love you.
I tried so hard to scrub you clean off my skin. I went outside to breathe in fresh air, but all I got were lungfuls of laundry detergent and hands, everywhere. (None of them yours.) I drank 2 x double shots and twirled into a spin cycle more dizzying than your mood swings. (Cold, delicate.)
May 1, 2013
i mean, you can’t just suddenly “unlove” someone
and leave them behind and pretend they don’t mean anything
But didn’t you?