The Five Steps
You loved my writting while you were here so now I write for you. I wanted to write about my sorrow but that seemed obvious and boring. I wanted to write about my anger and hate but that seemed too cliché. I wanted to write about the empty feeling you left in me, but that seemed to be drenched in self pity. I wanted to write about the denial, but that was in denial. So now I stare at your empty bedroom and I scream so loudly in my head that tears come out. HOW COULD YOU LEAVE ME LIKE THIS? I feel like someone took out my heart and put it through the shredder, over and over and over until nothing was left but dust. My regrets cut me in half with a knife dragging from my head, through my body, down to my toes. The pain of missing you wraps around my neck like a boa constrictor, and chocks me. Memories drown me. Reality slaps me. The physical reminders of you punch me repeatedly in the stomach, until I double over. The pictures of you stab me and twist until I’m numb. The house itself mocks me with its noise.