The Fourth Day

It’s the fourth day since he left.

The fourth morning that I woke up and noticed no difference from the back of my eyelids and the flowers that they say supposedly grow outside (although maybe my vision is going because I don’t see them anymore).
The fourth morning I rolled over in my sleep to check beside me and there was nothing but entirely too vast empty space on either side.
The fourth morning of complete and utter abandonment and that huge knot in my stomach that doesn’t seem to go away.
The fourth morning of hunger and dehydration because I have forgotten the simple skills like how to eat and how to drink.

I had always imagined that being alone somewhere far away from home would feel like freedom but what version of independence ties to me so stiffly down to my bed?
What independence abuses me and watches me be tossed between everyone walking down a busy street?
I’d rather just stay inside then be threatened by the blade of stabbing memories that goes through my head when I try and complete simple tasks.

Besides it’s always dark outside.
Even when everyone else is staring up into what they say is a beautiful blue sky. I’m confused because all I see is night.
Yesterday if even for one mere second I saw the light returning at the sound of his voice,
but in that brief moment of sight I looked into his eyes.

Although my memory of this world possessing color is skewed I’ll never forget the second that I stared into the windows of his soul.
They normally sparkle with green amethyst and different shades of brown tourmaline stones,
But all I saw yesterday was emptiness.
I saw the emptiness of my bed in the morning, the emptiness of his seat at the table next to mine,
and the emptiness of my hand with his intertwined.
And worst of all, I saw the emptiness of my heart without his love to fill it.
And then I watched as he drove away and suddenly I was blind again.

I wonder when my vision will return.
Will the long nights of nothing but staring at the wall all be in vain?
Will the bruises from the unexplainable hits I take when I look up to see if it’s him, even when I know that it’s not ever fade?
Will the days ever stop blending into one another long enough for me to tell the difference between them?
Will everyone else in the world wake up and forget about me on the fifth, or sixth, or seventh day?

I don’t know the answers to any of these questions, or any others right now.
All I know now is that it’s the fourth day.

It’s the fourth day since he left.