It wasn’t the same as with
other people. When I lost you, I mean.
It wasn’t the same.
Because, when I lost you
my heart scarred in all of the
places you had touched it. Every
pretty word you’d said to me
became ugly, every laugh I had laughed
for you was replaced with staring
at the wall for an hour, wondering if
I was dreaming. When I lost you,
I thought that maybe I hadn’t lost you
at all. I thought you’d pick up the
phone and call, or at least send a message.
When I lost you, I lost a piece of myself.
Because, you came into my life with a bang,
changing the way I viewed
people, and city lights, and stars,
and everything. And losing someone
who changes everything hurts.
It more than hurts. It turns feet into
heavy blocks that you can’t lift for days,
and it makes your lips so sore
that you won’t open them to speak.
But when I lost you, I missed
you, and I hated you, and it hurt
so much I couldn’t even cry.
But it’s okay.
When I lost you, I lost a piece
of myself, but new pieces have grown
in its place, and it’s okay.
Sometimes I feel like I’m not… solid. I’m hollow. There’s… nothing behind my eyes. I’m a negative of a person. It’s as if I never— I never thought anything. I never wrote… anything, I never felt anything. All I want is blackness— blackness and silence.