Untitled Story to Be

Gone.

You're gone.

I think you were a dream.

But then I find the pictures, and your jacket...

and I know that you are gone.

And I am here.

What happened?

I don't remember.

The days pass; I'm not sure how my rent gets paid, I must have one, I must have bills.

I dwell on this for a moment only, as I fear I shouldn't know the answer.

Sometimes I think I see you, and each time I smile, but you are cold and unresponsive.

Where is your heartbeat? I remember your heartbeat; it used to sing me to sleep.

"This isn't you." I whisper.

I scold you for not being you.

And then you're gone.

Gone.

But they're not.

They revel in your absence.