The thing about loss
Is that it didn’t hit me
When it happened.
I didn’t feel loss.
Not when I got the call.
Not when I attended our last party together
Everyone wearing black.
Her favourite colour.
Not when there were two bodies
and only one person
that last time I saw her.
Pale.
No, I didn’t feel loss.
I felt everyone else’s loss
And made it my own.
A vacancy inside me
Filled with pain
not of my own doing.
And that made it worse.
It was three days later
I was checking my phone
And I didn’t see her name
Pop up at the crank of dawn.
She wasn’t on my recents
Only recently passed.
The vacancy started to fill up
With the deafening sound of absence.
A week later I was at a book store
I found a book with chapters named
Only in odd numbers.
She was an odd little one.
She would have liked it.
I almost bought the book for her.
Thirty one days later
That movie she wanted to see
Came out.
I went alone.
It’s just one never-ending monotone.
Sometimes you forget she’s gone.
She’s still there, you know.
Writing, eating, breathing.
Am I lying to myself or is time lying to me?
And my ears pick up the monotone again.
A frustration.
Of so much to say
But when you turn the recorder on
You realise you have nothing to record.
Succumb to the monotone.
A year and a half later
I shift to a new city
Unloading the pieces of my life.
I find a stone.
Our hike up the mountain.
When she told me
She’d move mountains for me.
And suddenly I feel selfish.
Because I had not thought of her
For a year.
The vacancy never really gets filled.
The pain just numbs until
You trick yourself into believing
You are as you were.
Whole.
Without loss.
With nothing to find.
I don’t think I’ll ever stop looking.
The Girl That Can Blog 