So you get into bed alone. So you stretch out. So you try not to pay attention to the empty space beside you. You tell yourself that this is okay. A bed is still full with just one person inside it. So you wake up early and you ignore the clothes on the floor. On the dresser. On the back of the chair. You tell yourself you’ll get to it later. Later has no expiration date. Somehow, this sounds okay. So you keep yourself busy. So you make sure you pay no attention to the empty air around you. You look at the sky. At the sea. At all of the things that seem full. You never once look back at you. So you go out because you feel like you need to. Like you have to. Like it’ll repair the dents in your ribs and knees and back. You drink tequila because it burns. Because it makes you feel something. So you go home alone. All that looking around has carved another cavern. The world is full. The world is full, even if it doesn’t feel like it. Even if I have to go to sleep without you. Even if I don’t want to. The world is full, that’s what they say. It is full. It is full. My bed is still empty. The world is still full.
even if I think it isn’t. (via @brizzlewritesthings)
