Blood splattered, a Jackson Pollock on the floor. Glass glistens, like fallen tears. I kneel on the cold canvas, hands busy. Picking, placing, moving. I tidy. A knock on the door.
It’s nearly your birthday. I try to ignore it, my heart pounding. Every year I worry, someone will see it beating fasting, someone will notice the tear in my eye. I don’t see you. The last candle blown out long ago.
I sit alone. Light off, door closed. Listen to the drumming rain at the open window. A breeze in an empty room, passes through me, not touching, not pressing, just there. With me. I breath a little easier. I breath.
Luke warm tea catches my tears
I drink still, gulping.
A thought wonders. A moment falls. A minute, an hour. Gone. I’m lost in time, thinking of you.
Morning silence, an unseen bird chirps alone. Grey skies stream through the window, the day a canvas for broken dreams.
as you colour, crayons sweepings, I dream of the ocean. The waves lapping. To and fro, in and out. A breath exhaled. A friend waiting. The salt on my tongue. Bitter.
A light on my bike, steers through the darkness. Pedals turn as I leave you behind. Winter drawing in now, the shadows breathe a little deeper. Air grips tight around me. A compress on my chest, crushes as I cry.
Clocks tick, keyboards type. The everyday clickity clack of life. Life without you. Life without us. Still we tick on. The absence aching.
White cup waiting. Grey steam gathering. Whirling clouds sting your eyes. Tears falling. Whistle screaming. Piercing the silence of an empty home.