Coagulated blood on the floor, pooled but a little scattered on the ends. If you lean in close you can see a few bits of flesh, light reds and dark pinks, all glazed over. My heart in pieces as I look down to the torn hole in my chest, sitting on the chair just as you left. The gore of the rip, so fast, so brutal, wondering while I still breathed. A glimmer caught my eye a bit ahead of the blood, smeared and still wet, the knife you used. Leaning back in the chair, the pain actually starts, but it's no physical pain, even though it came from my chest. But that's because there is no blood on the ground, nor was my heart actually ripped out by a knife. The knife was you leaving, the pieces of flesh were my heart breaking and the blood was my love spilling on the floor. The pain was memories and dreams pulling away from the walls on my mind, my life and leaving an emptiness I haven't felt in years.
Even though I've felt this before, it still felt new and different. The past started immediately as the door shut behind you and the future started. It was empty, cold and dark. Right there in the chair, even as your footsteps echoed down the hall it was as if they carried "us"with them. The walls faded to one solid white. The clock, the pictures, furniture, all slowly evaporated. My eyes were still open, but I just saw nothing. All I could feel was the chair I sat in, almost as if it was the holding me up emotionally as well. Then it all went quiet, no more pain, no more memories floating away, no more footsteps, just a vacuumed silence. It could only mean, the journey of solitude now begins.
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