The Rain On Monday

Written words are the only thing my mind can find ease in.


64. Emptiness

You killed yourself in December, for what reasons I’ll never know why.

All you left me with were broken memories and tearstained cheeks.

No note, no messages, just memories to haunt me while I dream.

Those grey eyes of yours are everywhere, they’re on everyone, and sometimes they’re all I see.

You used to make me laugh and cry at the same time, but now, all I can do is cry when I see you in my sleep.

Fifty-three unanswered calls that night, and all I can do is live with it.

It’s not my fault you did what you did, but it might as well have been me driving that car, and me pushing you out in front of it.

I hear your voice and see your eyes, but all I want is for you to come back.

You said you’d never leave, and I believed you.

You left me that night, when blood met the whiteness of the blinding snow, and I was fast asleep, not knowing you weren’t breathing.

You’d been dead for a long time before that night, but I never really knew how.

Now your body is as dead as the inside of your soul was, as it wilted away, it took you down with it.

You were an empty shell of a girl I once knew and loved, and the day that you died you replenished my emptiness while taking all of my soul with you.

I poured everything I had into you, and you were still empty.

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