I came home to the apartment today,
and was frustrated at everything being so still.
I wasn't used to everything
being exactly where I had left it,
No change having occurred in my absence.
And that was so frustrating,
as it reiterated the fact
that you were no longer here,
but somewhere else,
far away, at least,
far away enough
to where your life circle
did not intermingle in mine,
thus creating my life
to be still and silent.
We hadn't been still
since the moment
we first walked through that door
with only the cat and a box of clothes,
and how warm and exciting that was
for the both of us.
We didn't stop moving,
not until now,
with everything so quiet,
so still, you'd think our
apartment was a museum.

I'm actually not okay,
and I don't know how to tell you that
without you worrying,
because I don't want to cause you stress,
but I'm sinking.
And I don't know if you
can rescue me from
my own waters.

So I sit here
drowning in my own silence
while you pass around the plates
with your family
and I'm in this ******* empty room
and I hate the color of these walls
that suffocate me
until I'm gone.

I'm not okay,
and I don't know how
to tell you.

So I try to preoccupy my mind
with memory of
the cat and the box of clothes..