missing in action

What if I’m just a filler chapter in your story? Insignificant, but a chapter nonetheless. A fleeting detour meant only to distract your readers from the essence of your tale. A chapter to bridge the monotony, to occupy the spaces between moments of true significance. A placeholder. Another brick in the wall, because how could I possibly stand a chance against the weight of the plotline you were destined for?

You felt familiar when you rested your weary bones against mine. I don’t even sleep anymore. I don’t feel pain anymore. In truth, I don’t feel anything at all. Because all I ever felt was you—your crushing force, your fleeting warmth, your hollow comfort. Nothing else. I hope it soothes you, knowing how deeply I treasure you. But you’ll never see it. You never saw me. Our sacred nights together were nothing more than nights of loveless love. Vacuous. And I was left hollow.

I was never whole when you arrived, but when you left, I was less than nothing. All that remained was a still image of the ominous ocean, framed in silence. “Feel, feel, feel.” The mermaids’ piercing caterwaul echoed endlessly, needing no introduction. I wondered if you knew how I longed for your kiss, how it was written so plainly across my lips. I stopped my car at the crossroad, and for a moment, I paused. Do you even know where I am? Everything here feels too familiar. Like death.