How are you? I saw you just now and I must say, you look like you're doing fine... What are you doing now? Knowing you, it'd probably be something to do with art and stuff. You always gad a flair for it. You always were the best.

How long have we been fighting this way? I can hardly remember the times when we didn't. You were always cruel, but I guess I wasn't any different. You probably would never chance upon this, but there is a tiny part in me that hopes you do. Oh, I really hope you do.

I don't know why I'm writing this, I guess I must be feeling rather sentimental. Or some sort of emotion, but I just wanted to say, I'm sorry. For what it's worth, I truly am. I know this is late and it probably counts for nothing, but I am. I don't expect you to understand why I am doing this, don't expect anything from you, even.

Maybe I've grown to hate what we've both become. Why did we let things escalate to the degree that they were? Maybe you still think of me in that same dark light, but I am. Truly sorry. Can we start over? But I already know the answer that you havn't spoken.

Labels: Rant, Total Randomness

It's better now. You get up everyday, every morning, stumbling across the cold floor to the kitchen to fix breakfast. You consider moving out of this house since it's only you now. There's no one else. Your family and your friends call you, automatically every morning. For whatever reason it may be, you are glad. They are the only constant thing left in this world of silence.

The backyard needs tending to. But you can't bring yourself to do it. You just can't. The coffee you make is atrocious. It tastes like water remaining after you boiled socks. The closets are still a pile. Everything was the way it was before. You get calls to leave the house. Take a walk. A vacation maybe? No. You can't leave. You can't let go. Not yet.

You go to work. Everyone treads on eggshells around you. Like you are something fragile. Breakable. It's been a month and you are still wearing black.

Home is nothing but an empty block of metal, brick and concrete. It holds no meaning for you. They stop by, now and then. Dropping meals, flowers and groceries. In a way, you are thankful for them. but you just wish that they'd leave you alone. The pictures adorning the shelves, fireplace, fridge door and walls are all unwanted reminders. But you don't have the heart to take them down. Because if you do, you might forget. And you don't want to forget.

Last night, when you were scavenging through the freezer for some microwavable dinner, you saw it on the corner of your eye. A grainy picture of the baby that was in your womb. You swallowed down the bile. You lost it too. Just as you'd lost him. A wave of pain washes over you and claims your entire being. It's like liquid fire coursing through your veins, burning through everything. You feel like every breath is a arduous labour. You curl up on the kitchen floor and cry.

Later, when the bout is over, another begins when you watch old videos of him and you. You hold onto the pillow and begin again. As you succumb to the darkness of sleep when your tears have exhausted you, you could almost hear his voice.

"It'll be better."

Labels: Mourning, Short stories

Sometimes the tears still fall
Sometimes, late at night when I catch a whiff of your scent on the pillow,
Sometimes when the radio plays our song,
that Tim McGraw song,
Sometimes when the days are hard and long,
And all I want is your smile and your arms around me,
Sometimes when I'm alone in my thoughts,
Sometimes when I walk in the streets, I think I saw you
But it wasn't
Sometimes I hear your voice in the mirror and I turn around but you aren't there,
Sometimes I find those old love notes we wrote in high school,
The ones with our names doodled in a heart
Sometimes I feel like I'm tied together with a smile
But I'm coming undone like the line from a Taylor song
Sometimes I think I'm the only one feeling this way
Sometimes I cry but I don't tell anyone
Sometimes it's so cold, but I can't fight it
Sometimes the emptiness is vast, haunting, eating me up from the inside
Sometimes, more than others, I think I will never over you.
And that, I never doubt.