Afterlife, oh my god, what an awful word.
Tired of a life of crying off all my mascara, crying off the fragile wrapping paper of my eyelids, tired of my brain wringing itself for answers in the small hours of the morning.
No, you don't care. I look to the empty spot on my bed where you'd sit, head resting on my shoulder, laptop playing The Doors Movie in front of us. Our lost laughter floats through the air and gets tangled in my ceiling fan. The spot where you told me you loved me is covered by a trash can now. You don't bat an eye at where I used to sleep on your floor, throw my backpack. My twenty page birthday card to you is no longer propped up against all the robots you built as a kid. You don't sleep with the blanket I bought you for Christmas anymore.
I can hear your voice now, calling me ***** and "buzzkill" in the smoke heavy air to your smoke heavy friends. I can feel your tongue erasing the muscle memory it needs to form my name.
I can feel my cheeks become wet again. I can feel my eyes blurring as you add me to the blocked callers list on your new phone, without a heart next to my name.
You're in a car, listening to music you hate, with your grandparents. I'm here, trying to forget what you do and don't love.
When love is gone
Where does it go?
And where do we go?