A Cage Left Open

She Loves Me Not

I don't sleep in our bed anymore.

It feels wrong.

The apartment is so empty.

Hollow.

Sometimes,

I swear there are little whispers of movement,

I swear I can feel them,

and it's almost like you never left.

Then I remember.

I remember looking through the crack in the door.

I remember watching you pace around the apartment,

steaming mug in hand.

I watched your blonde head wander past the door

over and over and over again.

Every time it did,

I wanted to scream your name,

because I knew.

I knew you were leaving.

I

should

have

stopped

you.

But I knew it would have been no use.

So I laid in that bed,

your name burning like bile in my mouth.

I watched your blonde hair

walk out of that door,

out of my life,

for good.

I don't know how long I sat in that bed,

thinking of every goddamn thing

I

should

have

said.

I laid there until it felt like I was

d

r

o

w

n

i

g

in that goddamn bed.

I followed your path,

your final trip around the apartment,

around our home.

On the table,

was a picture.

My favorite.

I picked it up,

and stared at our smiling faces.

Your blonde hair was blowing in the wind.

I flipped the picture over.

On the back,

you had written

We were happy.

And in that moment,

I understood.

But I still don't sleep in our bed anymore.