A Lonely Interlude
I spend my days trying not to wonder. How do you do it? This is what it feels like to wake up to a dream. It was real. You were here. The fact is, you meant every fiber that moved in tandem to every muscle in me, every interaction I've ever had, good and bad, lead to you, every blink of an eye, every coffee ordered, every song I've ever listened to, every lonely day, every single time I sat for a drink, every painting, drawing, every poem, every letter, every rose or flower I ever sent, every night you spent in my apartment, every thought, dream, and nightmare.
And then, one day you're gone. Like it never happened. This must be what it feels like to wake up from a coma. This must be what it feels like to have your soul escape your heart. This must be what it feels like to stray from the spaceship, floating away from the earth as an astronaut, doomed. To see everything distance itself without having a chance to fight back. Powerless, all the while helpless in knowing that eventually you'll run out of air.
Love escapes me in every way, shape or form. Now, I just have to accept it. Close my eyes, and try not to imagine it. Somewhere inside me, the fire has died out and only embers remain.
What does that mean? Especially when you're so confident in knowing those embers will eventually die out as well? Why are there embers still?