I came home today.
But I didn’t go inside.
I didn’t go inside, not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t.
I wanted to go inside. But I sat and waited.
He let me in when he got home.
I walked upstairs.
I walked into our bedroom. Alone.
I stood there and looked out the window.
And finally the emptiness washed over me.
My eyes looked forward and saw nothing.
The tiredness stung them, but felt like nothing.
My hands hung down at my sides and felt like heavy nothingness.
Tears fell from my eyes effortlessly.
My mind felt full and empty at the same time.
The only thoughts in my head:
I don’t know how long I stood there.
I heard him come in behind me.
I found the will to move my feet.
To take off my clothes.
To get into the shower.
I don’t remember feeling the water.
I got out, and he stood there.
He helped me get dressed.
He held me.
I could feel him trying so hard to push past my emptiness.
To be more present than my loneliness.
I love him for it.
I want it to be enough.
Now I lay here.
My hands feel like they’re in slow motion.
They feel like nothing.
My eyes still don’t see.
They’re too tired to stay open.
But too tired to close.
My chest aches.
In an annoying, persistent way.
Like my heart is just a little more broken than it was before.
It’s beating harder to make up the difference.
But I don’t know why it’s trying so hard.
The emptiness inside me.
This emptiness that’s filling every inch of my body.
This emptiness hurts.
I’m not really sure how nothing can hurt.
But I feel it so greatly.
It makes me tired.