I miss you
I miss the way you looked at me and didn't grimace
I miss the way your laugh didn't hold malice
I miss the way your breath didn't make me hold my own
I miss the way your carefree words didn't spear into me

I still stare at the white, bare portions of my wall
Running situations in my head about anything I am, have been, and could be
And even though I've mustered enough will to hang a few posters and line a couple decorations,
the blank portions of the wall still dominate the room
My gaze is drawn to the empty space, to the vacant corners and uncovered surfaces
I'll stare into it without reservation and lose myself(well, if there's anything to lose) as I immerse myself in its nothing

I stare with an expression as flat and blank as the object of my attention
I'll mimick the emptiness and attempt to layer my thoughts with it,
filling my overcrowded brain with white, seamless and ever-expanding emptiness
Causing the previous tenants of my thoughts to fizzle and pop under it's pressure, being reduced to an ever present static that varies in volume
I stare as my body tenses and goes lax in a cycle deciding whether to be cold or indifferent, repeatedly stiffening just to then again crumble into itself
(Since when did my body become an 'it'?)
I stare at these bare fixtures that keep me transfixed and immobile
I stare at them- and I'm terrified.

How many years have they been empty?
How many years have I marveled and idealized their blankness?
And after all this time, have my efforts born fruit?
Have I become nothing?
My chasing and fantasizations of becoming one with the void, have they been realized?

Or has it been so from the start?
Maybe the walls reflect their keeper(their captive)
Maybe the room can only echo what's already been said
And nothings been said
Maybe the walls can only display what's been shown
And nothings been shown
Maybe the reality is that all this barren and empty space that's here... is because all along

I've been nothing.



© Marah Schneider