Life is grey without her. Walking is exhausting without her. I stepped out of our house this morning, tried to welcome the day half-smiling but I knew even then that those hours were disposable. Their only value lies in the fact that they might be bringing me closer to her. And so with time decaying with such little significance, my only comfort is to think that life has gone with her, wherever she is. Right now, at this very moment, she is sprinkling life on every stranger, every road sign, every pebble, every ray of sunshine fortunate enough to witness her smile.
My polo shirt feels different without her, as well as my Chucks, my jeans, and my worn-out socks. Maybe they want to slip out of my body to run away after her. They can’t be blamed for that. After all, my clothes know very well that they don’t have much importance to the universe until she takes them off.
These eyes, they only see spaces, thin flesh and bones forming faces, and my ears, they only hear mindless ravings until night silences all random creatures away. Finally, when everything is quiet, I could sink into the soft pillow and drown in dreams of her lying against my chest. How my fingers would ache trying to reach out into the darkness, failing to find and caress her hair.
Work is work without her. This silly thing I do with a slab of black plastic and a shining square screen used to be quite enjoyable, like a beautiful verse to an amazing chorus where she and I would meet, tired from the silliness of it, yet glad that we’re finally holding each other’s hands. But now, these horrifying contraptions are infecting me, merging with my organic body, attempting to become one with me. I would like very much to smash them with all my might.
Pressing the 5th floor button, the grimy elevator speedily went down. It was hastening to throw me out, send me eating alone in the pantry. And so I sat, opened my lunchbox to see some good-looking grilled chicken, put the cold meat into my mouth, and tasted nothing.
Nothing had happened since she left. Nothing will be worth talking about until she arrives. But then at that point, I probably would love to shut up just to hear what she did, where she went, how she sprinkled life on serious, barren streets.
Today though, as I pack my things up to leave this hard chair, I could only say again, life is grey without her. My skin is dry without her sweat on it. My lips are icy without hers on them. My face is absolutely boring without her staring at it. My soul has put up a “Don’t Disturb” sign on its door. As I end this one, I just want to wish her the sweetest happiness and the loveliest dreams. Now I wait until she comes, hopefully, to kiss this greyness goodbye.
To Chemae: the chlorophyll in my otherwise crispy, brown leaf.