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slow motion and backwards.

I sit on the floor, staring up at empty hangers, hot tears roll down my cheeks.  Tears of deep sorrow this time, tears of loss.  I’ve lived here alone longer than when he was here with me.  

A tear rolls down.  

I miss his arms around me, protecting me from pain ... his lingering scent as he pulls away ...

A tear falls.

I stare back up at the emptiness, feeling cheated for the zillionth time ...

Another tear.

Only minutes before, I was packing up his clothes.  Folding each article, packing them as I did on that last fateful trip for work.  Touching each one tenderly.  Memories sit heavy in the air, it feels stifling.  I can’t speak a word, or I’ll fall apart.

A couple more streams fall down my cheek.

I pack another t-shirt and wince as the light catches the beautiful ring on my finger.  The scene doesn’t seem right ... a symbol of such devoted love and promise clashing harshly against the somberness of putting away his clothes.  I can’t decide what hurts more: the deep, lingering longing of missing him, or all the tiny detailed memories slowly slipping ...

I pull my knees close to my chest.  There’s no stopping them now.  My breath quickens, the sobbing hits me.  For minutes that seem like a lifetime, I sit there on the floor, rocking back and forth.  This pain has to go away sometime.  I want to shut out the world.  I want to never leave this closet, surrounded by his clothes, his smell.  

I take one more look, “Chels, this isn’t you” his gentle voice echoes through my heart.

Inhale.  Exhale.  Be brave.


I get up ... time to finally take that firearms course.

 -chelsea.

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