Train Of Thought: Delayed

Fresh Ruins

'Maybe I should have said something?' A sentence that had looped itself on repeat ever since the news was announced through the haze that had fallen. It echoed through the walls of the mind showing just how broken and alone we really are. Just another burden to carry upon the shoulders, another thing to weigh you down. 'Maybe I could have said something?'

The flashbacks start, they never stop. Its as if I was there, saw everything trapped in a state of shock or was it fear? Anger? Unable to to anything but watch.
'Maybe I could have done something?'
Ragged breathing, a cold sweat dripping down the face and neck disappearing beyond the collar of an old t-shirt. As the flashes of agonising memories continue, my minds own worst enemy. Bed sheets, to constricting, suffocating, thrown to the floor. Bare feet soon joining them as they make their way to the bathroom. A light switch clicked on and cool water from the basin splashed across the face in a vain attempt to shock the mind back into the state of numbness and silence the thoughts again. A glance up at the mirror is met with the sunken eyes of a stranger. No longer holding that characteristic twinkle of wonder and joy, of hope. There it is again that sickness in the stomach, a concoction of disgust, sadness and guilt with that added saltiness dried tears. A lump in the throat is formed. Hard to swallow, which only adds to the suffocating feeling.

"Maybe I could have done something?" A dry whisper from the painfully cracked lips, that seem to have forgotten that such a thing as a smile could have ever existed.

Shoulders, slumped, turn back to the bedroom, trashed. Now with shadows creeping among the walls from the harsh light of the bathroom. Objects are seen more clear, empty space is brought into focus. Legs give way as they slide down the doorframe. An arm half-heartedly reaching out for something to hold.
The contents of the room reflecting the contents of the grieving heart and mind.

Clothes bundled up across the floor, a picture frame left smashed at the bottom of a wall, cellphone at the foot of the bed left untouched and dead, curtains closed blocking out any of the city lights glow, one half pulled from the place above where it was secured, and a chair left to rest on its side a leg puncturing the patterned wallpaper.

A state of chaos, many messy details to pick up on yet somehow it all just is so cold and lifeless, so vast and lonely. Time at a stand still. A world left to rot. Someone left behind to deal with all the shattered pieces and expected to soldier on.

"Oh god I miss you" Body curling in on itself as the final plea is given, "Please come back."