n/a

The pit in my stomach is so deep it swallows up the only words I could have used to describe the feeling. The feeling of being…no, there are no words.

“Be safe,” my dad says. “Those trucks will knock the shit out of you.” I smile. Life already has. Give it to me.

Give it to me. What I need. What do I need? I wish I knew. All I see is the word “CUNT” spray painted on the floor of the bus. I’ll miss the Bay’s grittiness and I’ll miss the way the wind whips my hair when I go out on the pier right before a storm hits. I’ll miss the sound the train makes and I’ll miss the home I never had a chance to make.

Still, there are no words.

And I don’t know how it crept in

The walls were almost up, fortified. The cement pressed firmly between the bricks, excess scraped away cleanly. And as I laid the last rectangle made of baked stone and sand onto the foundation—ever so carefully, even—it tumbled and crumbled and lay in rubble. All of it. All my work.

Plenty of blood, plenty of sweat. Now, the tears.

Your hand wrestles with mine in the dark. And now it grasps at the abyss that is my absence. It can feel like an abyss, can’t it? The loneliness. The late night/early morning communications that get lost in tears flowing down the shower drain as I try to get ready for work. For the day. For my life. Or maybe just the next moment.

Yes, just the next moment.

Not my image--found on Pinterest with no attribution