I packed all your stuff in boxes
then crumbled in a heap crying on the floor.
I couldn’t bear to see them everywhere
strewn through my apartment.
Each jacket, each t-shirt, everything that touched you
like I used to
a constant reminder of the ghost you are now,
of the shadow that still follows me
to every corner of that apartment.
The floor is the only thing reminding me
there is still ground
that the sun will come up tomorrow morning.
But I lie there
the darkness swallowing me from the inside out
and the outside in
knowing that waking up without you next to me,
without your arms around me,
just may kill me.
So I let the darkness swallow me whole
and give into the pain
that rips and shocks through
my body like lightning
through a dark sky.
And the sun did come up.
It hit me, sleeping in my tears
still on the floor…
a rude awakening
that the sheets I could not sleep in
still smelled of you.