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Broken Pieces
"A person is, among all else, a material thing, easily torn and not easily mended." (Ian McEwan) Prose or poetry.
Profile avatar image for DeAnn
DeAnn

Autophobia

I didn't truly know what alone felt like

Until I had no one to come home to

Her collar hung on my wall planner,

taunting me with the lack of a body attached to it.

The "I love you" as I walk out the door

escaping my lips to an empty room.

The smell of her dissipating day by day

as air fresheners slowly overwhelm the apartment.

An empty room.

Empty room.

Empty.

You always know this day will come,

but never expect it to arrive so soon.

The tears don't stop,

they run

on and on and on and on.

The empty bed

The empty couch

the empty kennel

the empty collar.

You're never ready,

but the day does come.

She does leave.

Now, whether we face the day or lay in bed forever,

that's determined day by day.

There's no one to turn to,

no one to sleep with

no fur to cry into after a bad day.

And eventually this may pass,

or the pain will get smaller

as the seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, years, decades go on

but that doesn't change the hesitation I have

anytime I open my apartment door.