Shattered

The sky, white and full, millions of snow flakes drifting down.

Unaware of the somber mood, they swirled and twirled falling to the ground with an almost maniacal glee.

Pressing my face to the window, I watched as you walked away. I hoped and I prayed you would turn around.

That you would see me and change your mind.

I hoped you would see my tears, hear my cries. I wanted you to come back. To say you were wrong. To say you loved me; that you wouldn’t go.

But you didn’t.

You never turned back. You never saw my tear stained cheeks, never heard my cries. You walked down the snow-laden walk and climbed into your car. You never glanced back as you drove away. You never stopped to think about me.

And then you were gone.

And I was alone. You would never be there for me again. You would never hear my laughs. You would never hear my cries.

You were gone.

And I didn’t know why.

I stayed there. Looking out that window for hours. Until the sky turned gray. I stayed there, waiting for you to come back. But you didn’t not then or the next day.

I had fallen asleep, the tears drying on my cheeks.

When I woke up the sky was still dark; the house was so still. My throat hurt from crying so I got up. I remember stumbling through the room, my eyes refusing to look where the closet doors stood open.

I didn’t want to see what I already knew. What I hoped wasn’t true. I didn’t want to see the emptiness.

The void that was left by you. I couldn’t handle it. I didn’t want to believe it. So I walked past, not daring to acknowledge the facts. I stepped out into the hallway and walked down the hall.

I paused at her door, and peeked in.

What would I tell her when she woke up?

How would I explain you didn’t want us anymore?

I stepped in and quietly crept towards her bed. My hand reached out as if of it’s own accord; my hand stroking her hair, her brown curls were so much like yours. I was glad she slept. I didn’t know if I could have stood looking into her eyes.

Eyes that were as green as yours.

You left us.

I bent down and kissed our daughter, I reached out and pulled her cover up higher before walking to her door. I cast one last look at her.

You used to call her your angel.

What happened?

Were we not enough?

Down the stairs I crossed to the kitchen. A kettle full of water went on the stove and I opened the cupboard. I saw your mug. The one I bought you for your birthday and with a strangled sob I grasped it..

And threw it at the wall.

My eyes, wild with hurt, searched the room, hungry for anything I could destroy. I wanted no memory of you.

I wanted you, but you left me.

I destroyed the downstairs.

I didn’t stop until it looked as I felt on the inside.

Shattered.

Written by: Summer Dulinsky 

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