ghost

The light trickles in, slowly inching its way across the quilt. Dawn breaks, and so does my heart. I don’t bother looking over to your side of the bed anymore. I know you’re not there. You never are. No amount of thought will transport you here. God knows I’ve tried.

Hope against hope, prayer upon prayer.

The pain is brilliant, but I’m used to it. It’s familiar, almost comforting. A lost lover, delicious and haunting. It fills the space you left behind. It is scalding, but I drink it in gulps. I want to hurt. I want to hurt badly, because to feel joy in your absence is absurd.

I refuse to get up until the torment is unbearable. Because I know that the inevitability of time will reduce the open cut/graze/slash/mutilation/gash to a dull throb. At least till night. Then I fall asleep, and dreams cut open the wound again, fresh for the following morn.