Nights are the worst.
It's always the same. I walk up my stairs, turn on every light, do every other meaningless task, and then I catch myself; a sight in the mirror. And I stare. I stare at myself. I stare at no one. I stare at someone who used to be a somebody to someone. To someone who is no one now.
Sometimes I ask myself questions:
Who are you?
Why do you look so sad?
Remember when you were happy?
Remember the way you looked when you still had him?
The last is sometimes the hardest to answer. It seems so far and yet so close.
Is this my life? One can hardly tell. I know who I am. Or do I? I know that face in the mirror.
Don't I?
I don't why I look to the mirror for answers. Perhaps I hope/I'm hoping that once the cold, truthful reflection will tell me a lie; if I stare hard enough at it his arm will drape around my shoulders and his forehead will nuzzle my cheek. I live for these lies. I'm desperate for the lie.
So there I sit. Waiting for my own reflection to lie to me.
Sweet insanity.
At the same time I feel like everything around me is a lie. His cologne and bow tie on my dresser, the bags of his clothes in a corner with shirts spilled about, a t-shirt with his smell, a picture of him next to me. Happy. How could he have ever been here if he is gone? If he is never going to wear his clothes again or leave an empty Monster on my nightstand? Did I dream it?
What I would do for the lie. But there I sit. Every day. Waiting for the glass to lie. Searching for answers.
Why won't he talk to me? Why can't I feel him? Why won't he come back to me?
Why am I alone?
