A History Of Us That Left Me Empty

Clem Onojeghuo

To early morning chirps, I awaken,
Tangled in last night’s sheets.

Remnants of adrenaline fuelled moments
Evade my grasp, slipping through my fingers,
Fleeting in and out of my tired bones,
Worked heavy. You sleep, eyelids flutter,
Silent body, quiet mind. I watch you,
Feeling empty inside, all too empty.
Outside of this small bubble, outside of
These sheets and this bed and your walls
This moment is only real to us two.
The world does not turn its head to us,
For it sees it as it is. This moment.

Nothing.

Rousing, you stir, eyes open, mouth closed,
Tight-lipped, wordless and unflinching in my presence.
You stretch an arm over to me,
To cuddle me close to you, yet your embrace
Remains empty, for I float now outside of this.
This moment. It is nothing, and I will be nothing.
The something it was, is, might have been, remains soaked in sheets,
stained and etched Into my mind, unable to grasp this
Forgotten something, the tangible proof
I need to forgive this using of my body.
A look you gave, a gentle touch across my skin,
Sure signs that there is room in your heart
Not just your tired arms, for me, when you are in need of warmth.

Comfort.

You linger in places you should have felt
Privileged in entering, and yet I leave you with nothing but
Lipstick stains and tears wiped before they even fell.
I lie, empty, in your arms, your steady sleeping
Breath on my neck as I stare, ceiling-ward,
Floating above this moment, gathering up this
Memory, shared between us two.
Leaving later, back into the world,
I smile, hug you, empty, meaningless.
It is as though I fade before you, into
Invisibility, disappearing into transparent
Leftovers, discarded, a vessel for your use, clear cut
And easy to break.

Shatter.

Grasping finally, I hold all of this moment,
Of all it was, of all, it was promised to be,
Of all, it wasn’t in the end. I am the sole owner
Of this memory. The sole carer.
I wish it was the only memory like this. An only empty night.
But while you forget it time and again, how you use me
Up and wring me out, like you will do with each tear-soaked
And love-lost sheet, I re-etch and re-dye my mind each
Colour of your walls in the sunlight, moonlight, sunset, and dusk.
Even the scent of you like a trigger, snapping me
Back to this memory that I want out of,
Yet I run back to. I let this bittersweet forgotten
History repeats itself again and again.

The empty history of us.

Related

More From Thought Catalog

blog comments powered by Disqus