7 Days Without You

Monday: I wake up, forgetting that you are no longer here. I look over at the bed beside mine, the bed that you not long ago occupied. I look around this room, that we shared throughout our childhood, that we told stories in, gossiped in, argued in- but we knew that the latter would never matter, because we swore that we would always be there for each other.

 

Tuesday: Half of your things are still here, as if you are going to come back for them any moment now. A part of me hopes for that. But what would happen next? Would you apologise for all the hurt you caused us? Would we all cry and hug each other and promise that nothing would ever come between us again? Or would you just come and go without a world as if you never played a huge part in my world? If I’m being honest with myself, I can’t see you doing either.

 

Wednesday: Mother insists that she puts up pictures of you around the house- a sort of reminder that she has more than one daughter. I know that she is taking this the hardest out of all of us and I know that you are not taking it hard at all.

 

Thursday: I went on my first date today. It hurts knowing that I will never be able to tell you about it, that you will never be able to hear about any of my other first experiences, that I will never have another conversation with you again.

 

Friday: I’m trying to block out memories of you by listening to music but my iPod is full of songs we listened to together, reminding me of concerts we went to together, good times we had with each other. It’s time to find some new music.

 

Saturday: All your things and everything that reminded me of you are now gone- thrown away in a desperate attempt to forget it all- it didn’t work. You are like a ghost; haunting my every thought.

 

Sunday: I sat down and I wrote this poem. I can’t decide whether to burn it or post it through your letterbox.