Friday, December 3, 2010

An alarm goes off in your chest:

You've forgotten the sound of her voice.

It's a simple realisation but it hits you full-force and you think to yourself, that's going to leave a bruise. As if ideas are solid entities, you muse with a half-hearted chuckle, but it will most definitely leave a plumb-coloured mark deep beneath your skin. Unseen to the outer world, but the pain is still very much there.

You're in bed, this is the second realisation that hits you, and on any other day before That Day it wouldn't mean anything. But it does. It means you're in bed, and the moment you roll over, her side will be as empty as you left it the night before. You don't want to open your eyes. You don't want to stretch your arms and hit the cold, vacant pillow next to you that most likely holds a few of her discarded hairs. Maybe it will smell like her, like the soft breeze that filled the room whenever she walked by, you hope. It's an empty wish, this time. You know rather well by now that her smell has disappeared from everything she once touched. Her side of the bed is now just half a mattress, half her favourite pair of white cotton sheets that you've taken to buying in bulk, and that fluffy white pillow you still can't bring yourself to touch.

With the heaviest heart since yesterday, as hearts grow lighter with each passing night, you force yourself to sit upright and turn your head slightly to the side. She isn't there. You can't wake her up with a kiss. She won't greet you with a mumbled morning, gorgeous.

There is no solace in seeing her bathrobe draped across the bedroom chair, exactly as she left it twoyears:sevenmonths:oneweek:threedays:sixhours ago. You strain your ears to hear her calling out those last words, the he's on the roof, he said he's sorry, I need to stop him that you thought you'd never forget, but all that echoes through your head is your own voice replaying the same speech.

You've forgotten the sound of her voice. First was the exact colour of her hair after a shower, then came the pleasant sigh she exhaled while you held her, and later was how she felt in your arms. Her voice was the last you had of her. The last moment. Her parting words. Yet no matter how hard you try, from this day on it will always be your own voice echoing back at you.