I’m in a quiet room, and I don’t hear anything. I don’t want to hear anything. I don’t want to hear your voice in my head. The sound of your hand softly landing on my leg, grasping gently. The sound of your voice when you whisper “I love you”. The sound of your lips against mine making your way down to my neck. The sound of your laugh when I quote Bob’s Burgers. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to relive memories that flood back in every single time my mind wanders.
Every part of me hurts, because I didn’t just love you. I loved you with everything I had. Every sense that I can experience as a human being was wrapped around you. I loved the sight of you, every look on your face, every part of your body. I loved to hear your voice, and hear every sound you made around me. I loved to feel you, all of you. I loved the taste of your lips. I even loved your smell in every stage, from fresh out of the shower, to right out of gym.
As I am wrapped in a blanket, leaning against my legs, all I can think about is how you used to wrap yourself around me so close. You held me tight, and it was nice to feel wanted.
I don’t hear anything, yet I hear everything.
Now you are gone, and out of my life for good, I don’t want to hear anything. I don’t want to experience a life without you. I don’t want to accept that you left me when I needed you most. I WANT you. But because I can’t have you, what I want the most is to have you gone, out of my head. To have the emptiness of this room, and the quietness around me causing me to hear you in my head, gone.