Thursday 14 March 2013

You are not here

Your bag is not on my floor. Your skin is not close to mine. Your hair is not between my fingers, your hands are not touching me, you are gone and I miss you so much.
This morning I woke up next to you but I won't do that again for at least ten weeks.
I miss you.
I didn't cry on the train on my way home and I spent all day in the workshop, until eight or so. When I walked home the moon was so bright and the night so clear that the sliver of light looked like a blade and the rest of the moon was visible like a shadow behind it and you weren't there to see it. You would have loved it.
When I came up to my room your abscence was so strong. You are not here anymore. You are not in my bed. I'm wearing your scarf and I bury my face in it, trying to feel your smell.
I miss you.

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