Sherl Shots

Jan 6

January sixth came and went like a pedestrian past a stop sign and yet I couldn't bring myself to register he had gone.

You'd think the absence of wailing strings would drench my bones in cold understanding of my somber situation, but it just made it worse. I wanted for melancholy music to wake me at three in the morning. I wanted for gunshots and complaining. I wanted for science. I wanted for him.

But as much as I wished, as much as I begged; the raven haired man didn't come home. Perhaps, I thought, he flew away. Yes, he flew away to a land much beautiful than this one. To a world less cruel. I prayed he found solace and I prayed he found comfort. 

For I did not find solace, nor comfort. Amidst the chaos, amidst the pain; I found nothing but torment. Nothing but torture. I found nightmares, and medication. I found bottles and cartons. I found darkness and I was so afraid. Afraid I would wither with the night. Disappear among the stars, he once called beautiful.

But, for the briefest of moments. A sliver in time; I wanted for nothing more than to disappear. To dance among the stars. To smile down at his grave, not to weep, not to beg. But to smile. 

But, that never happened. I was left with my still aching heart and the memory of him seared into my mind. I was left with all he was and all he could never be.

I was left in a dusty flat, with an empty chair and a single lit candle in a cupcake on that night of January sixth. I will never forget it, Sherlock.