The wires of the telephone that once connected us were strewn across the floor in a tangled web of dead conversations. I startled myself with the thought that perhaps your voice still existed somewhere inside of them…If tore them apart, would I hear you say my name?

The sun was soft and hazy as it emptied itself onto my body in a thin, transparent layer of yellow-gray. The smell of Autumn filled the empty room, my breath echoing against the harshness of a grave realization. I was desperately alone.

Your cigarettes were littered across the carpet…the magazine ladies, catching a glimpse of me, smiled from their place under the bed. Your body’s imprint on the mattress dizzied me, knowing I would roll over and fall into the outline of your absence. I didn’t want to sleep there anymore.

Your clothes were in the closet on blue plastic hangers that were uniform in color and shape. I put my face in a shirt to smell you, finding nothing but the smell of someone else.

You left her nightgown in an open box like an trophy. Pink satin validation of how much you loved me. It was never enough…

My mind was clinging to the torn exchange at the foot of our bed when the nighttime was black and sticky and you were invisible; except for you voice.

“I don’t want to hate you…”
“I don’t want to hate YOU….”

I pictured myself wrapping the the phone cord around your neck; your body on the ground snarled up inside the mess of wires and a lifeless stream of dialogue that was presumably meaningless…

To you.