I blame no one. I blame myself for this emptiness that swirls in core of my being. I blame myself because I am bleeding but I do not feel it. I blame myself because if someone performed CPR on me, blood would gush out of my already punctured lungs. That is how dead I am. But I do not know it yet.
Let me divide my life into two. The past seven years that I breathed and lived and swallowed you and the upcoming years where I would attempt to exhale, kill, and regurgitate every dent of memory you left in my brain and my empty heart.
How did I arrive at this moment? Staring at the endless stretch of road before me. With no one by my side. I squint but I do not see the end. There is dust everywhere. I choke. It stung my eye.
I should not have left you when I did and I should have let you go when I did not.
Do you realize that since you left I have been living in monotony?
I wake up, fold the sheets, eat my breakfast, then lunch and dinner where every bit of food I ingest float harmlessly inside my body because my organs have already started dying one by one.
One would peer into my eyes and see nothing but space. But space is good. At least if some people returned what they got or borrowed from me, I have somewhere to place it to.
The only organ functioning in my body right now is my vagina, but for how long? What will be left of me then when I have lost my ability to come?
Will I be a walking corpse, all skin and bones with no vital organs?
Still I do not blame you.
It pains to admit how afraid I am to feel again.
My heart is on its last artery. When you left you cleaned out every ventricle, vein and chamber I am afraid there is nothing left for me to give. Not even for myself.
Broken. You left me broken. Scattered. Dismantled.
But I still have my legs. I could still stand.
The road is still before me. I could still walk.
How could I have forgotten? I have always been stronger than you. You, who have always needed to have someone at your side. I have managed to survive for so long without actually living. Live.
That is not such a bad idea. As soon as I am able to close my wounds, I would live.
I blame myself for not giving you strength, for you to survive the upcoming years without me.