And So It Ends

There are lines of dirt in the paint of this wall in front of me and a couple of paint marks. Blue pen, I think.

Small bits of dust have settled into the wood of the chest near my elbow.

Tiny bits of fluff mesh into the dirty coloured carpet under my feet.

The mirror has smear marks which I can suddenly clearly see.

The TV picture is grainy.

I miss you.

I curse you.

I wish I’d never met you.

I wish you were here, now.

There are no more flowery words, no more inspired thoughts flying randomly through the chaotic fabric of my mind.

Just the wall, the chest, the carpet, the mirror, the TV…

…images of you crowd cruelly into my mind.

I agreed to this, but I wish I did not notice so acutely your absence from my life, from this space.

The heavy sound of a firmly closed door echoes through the chambers of my soul.

I can feel the rasp of the bolt as it slides firmly, finally home.

Weary thoughts circle ceasely like vultures around the carcass of my poor excuse for a life.

I am tired but sleep eludes me.

I spend time with others, but it does not lessen the sense of loss.

Why is moving on always so very hard to do?