Empty Space

Words whisper around me, but they are not the soothing blankets my mother placed on me. They roll around in space, useless but not unheard. I let the gentle murmers of apologies and offers sway around my head, not understanding but hearing. I am trapped in a cloud of loneliness, but I am not alone. My world is untouched and broken. I am lost in a bubble that is all my own, and no intrusion bursts it. I am lost in memories that slip me out of reality. Any true thought is painful, sending sparks of fire through my body until I am woozy with agony. So I force myself to believe that you will still do everything we used to, that you are just taking a break. Every memory is a safe place, a drug, a sedative, for my torment. I live like this. Unbelieving, refusing to accept the truth. I lay with my head resting on the mossy bank, quiet and peaceful, away from people forcing me into healing. I see a snail creep across a strand of grass. It moves small and slow, but I see it slipping away. I think of how it reminds me of life, so slow you don’t hurry up, and so fast you don’t rest. And I think of you crawling, crawling out of my sight, and for the first time, I let the sharp pain in my chest consume me.