There is this big empty space where the idea of you, you and I, used to reside. It retreated recently for the first time in years. Years and years. They say if you loose a limb you can sometimes feel it there, doing what it once did. That’s the only way I can explain the way I felt about you and I. An attatchment to something I knew once, maybe only once, that just never left me. I kept it slung around wrists. I carried it while I traveled. I put it in safe places while I slept. I made room for it next to me on the bus. Your unshakeable presence with me became so much a part of who I was that I shaped other pieces of my life around it, demanded others made room for it as well. Foolish. Then I ran out of things to say. I feel I ran out of a person I was, I was to you. I don’t know where she went but she is gone. Possibly, I out grew her. Possibly, she will find her way back. Who is to say, I don’t know. Some things cannot be explained. Like a weather phenomenon – there it was and now it’s gone.
Published by Erin Rose Belair
I am multi-genre writer specializing in travel, ad-copy, and nonfiction prose. A recent graduate with my MFA I am spending my new found time rambling around the world, practicing yoga, and searching for the best salad ever. View all posts by Erin Rose Belair