there is a hole in the shape of a woman in the ground.
well, hole is not the best term. an absence. there is an absence of a woman, and its currently in the earth.
six feet deep, flowers sprouting on top of it.
i try to visit it every day, although i cant force myself to on most. i cant force myself to acknowledge it.
i really do try, i want to let it know that i care. but the acknowledgement that its there is agonizing at times.
does she know that im even here. is there a point in this? i try to keep it happy. her home is like she never left.
her beloved dog has a full belly and is happy to see me.
and yet, is there a point in this? will she see me again?
i look down at it. the dirt hasnt been touched in weeks, im the only person who even cares for it. i lay down another flower and take away a rotted one.
its six feet deep. i sit down besides it.
there is a hole in the shape of a woman in my heart.
it starts to rain. i lift up my hood and rise, my knees covered in dirt and filth. i watch as the flower drifts away in a stream of water.
i can only watch. i can only watch as it slides away into the river, joining the dozens of ones before.
i can only stare as it grows. the mass grows, the water grows weak, its hurt. its hurt and i can only stare.
i cant look away from it. i look at the mass in the lake, legs weakly wobbling as my fists clench. i can barely force myself to turn around and walk away.
its fine. its alright. ill be back here tomorrow.
vanessa. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
there is a hole in the shape of a woman in my heart.
and i can only watch as it grows.
