Melancholy Solitude

I don’t do well with alone. I sit here in a dark, empty apartment and it’s all I can do to keep from crying…or screaming. Something about darkness is…tangible. I could almost touch it. It could hurt me. It’s dark and I miss the light. I need to sleep but all I can think about is how much I miss him. It’s only been two hours since I’ve seen him, but I need him tonight. I need to feel his strong arms protecting me. I need to hear him whisper that it’ll be ok. When he was here, when he slept next to me, I wasn’t scared. I was happy. Now that he’s gone, this decorated room feels bare and empty. I feel empty. I hug a useless teddy bear, knowing it can’t help me in the thick black that surrounds, but if I close my eyes, I can almost imagine it’s him. Almost. I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know if I can open my eyes for fear of what lies beyond my eyelids. So I lay here eternally, eyes clenched shut against the blackness, choking a stuffed replacement of my Guppy, humming a lullaby to myself. Tears of fear roll down my cheeks as I stroke the darkness. Tears of loneliness burn my face as I embrace my melancholy solitude. “…and if that mocking bird won’t sing, Mamma’s gonna buy you a diamond ring…”

~ by blackdehlia on April 6, 2008.