Fractured

A loud bang wakes you. You’re in bed. Its not your bed. Its just A bed. Its quiet, really quiet. You unball your fists and look around. The room is empty. There are things in it of course; table, television, closet, shelves. Those things don’t matter though because something is missing. Something that seems so integral to your core that its absence weighs on you. That absence presses on your chest like an elephant was jumping on it.

SHE isn’t there.

It all comes flooding back now, she took him and they won’t be back until the next day at least. Its all neat and orderly except now, you cant fall asleep. Now, you’re laying in bed wondering how you laid in bed those many years before her. Now, you’re thinking that her not being here is like having something stolen from you.

You’re alone and its dark and its raining.

Your body complains and your brain screams SLEEP! But you don’t. You go on Facebook and talk about whatever random topic catches your eye. You open a web browser and research some obscure and useless topic. Wow. I’ve always wondered what happened to old cardboard egg crates. You get frustrated, turn it all off and sit in the dark. But that absence eats away at you like acid. Like a disease it creeps into any stray thought it can. SHE isn’t here. And she wont be until at least the morning.

And you have to lay in the dark.