So much of what we write is just words thrown together…do you notice that?
Am I the last one to know?
I try. I’m trying. I know you didn’t leave me but you left me and I am running out of words to describe the quiet I live in now.
I’ve run out of places to stake my spot. Make my own. I stretch out my skin to fit but it doesn’t make any difference. Still I remember that day with the sand in my toes, and I know nothing can replace the way I felt then. People ask about you but I shake my head. There are other things, I say. I allude to more. But really. What they mean is it. Is true.
I fill up your absence with the presence of better memories. They don’t mean a thing in comparison. I reach out to myself but myself is tired of turning the page.
A toss and a splat, the words slide down the wall. As empty and silent as you imagined…you wait.