Alone.

You left me here alone. All alone.

Alone with the mess you’d made. Alone with the bills I couldn’t manage. Alone with the work that comes with trying to keep this place in check. Alone with your clothes and your stuff and your photos and your essence.

Alone with your friends asking me where you were, how you were, and how worried they should be. .

Alone with your promises that we could get through anything together. Alone with your request that I just be there for you when all this “mess” was over. Alone with my prayers for your safe return to me and to us.

Alone with my fears that you were not OK.

Alone with your genuine and real affirmations of how much you loved me and how hard you were trying to get back to me.

I’m still sitting here alone. Only now I know that I really am alone. All alone.

And that you haven’t been alone at all since you left.

There’s been someone taking care of you and making sure you were OK. You were reciprocating.

Did you think I didn’t need you? Didn’t want you? Or did you not think about me at all?

Because that’s how it feels.

And now I’m alone in a whole new way.

I’ll have to get this house ready to sell alone. I’ll have to figure out the finances alone. I’ll have to pack up your shit alone.

I’ll have to find a new place to live alone. I’ll have to figure out how to tell everyone about us alone. I’ll have to figure out how to live my life alone.

I’ll have to cry over you alone. I’ll have to be mad at you alone. I’ll have to learn to trust again alone. 

I’ll have to always love you alone.

And that might be the worst kind of lonely.