the windows closest to the coliseum

I still sit at our same spot in the library. Curtains down and drawn, sheer enough to see the gray dome of the Coliseum if you squint. Sunlight still streams in though, basking the seat in front of me that used to be yours. Memories of that light on your face are now blurred and faded, even when I try so hard to sharpen and make them whole again. 

Every single footstep makes my head snap up, then snap down when I realize they aren’t yours. Instead of you, a girl with frizzy hair and a pink backpack rounds the bookshelf. Or it’s a guy with a patchy beard and a laptop bag. Or it’s a guy with no bag and just “The Giver” in his hand. Or it’s a girl with three theology books stacked on one another as she also carries a Starbucks coffee and a croissant. It’s never you.

I still sit at our same spot in the library. Laptop open, Solitaire on the table, and vigilant eyes stalking the room. The cards don’t play the same without you there to watch and make snarky comments about how slow I deal or about how expressive I am. 

The silence is what gets me. Before, a line that we toyed with. Secret whispers, hushed laughs, unspoken comments. Your words spoken here were the loudest I have ever heard in my life. Now, a blanket overtakes me. The typing of my laptop fills my ears and I cringe. The shuffling of the cards are like nails on a chalkboard. The glide of my pen fills my mind with screams of what I should have said. What I could have said.

I still sit at our same spot in the library. Alone at a table for us two and our backpacks. I never realized how dead it is up here without you. 

I still sit at our same spot in the library. And I wonder, do you do the same?