blood rush

choose a few specific images and focus almost solely on them in a piece of writing of any kind.

the morning after you left i entered your house through the front window

i couldn't sleep all night

you'd taken your keys and i still don't know why you didn't leave them with me, at least

another thing to remember you bye

and how selfish it was of me

a nasty habit you said i'd grow out of

to somehow expect more after you'd lost everything

your house was now only inhabited by all the things you grieved:

an older brother you barely knew

a sick mother

an absent father

i went room by room

trying not to disturb the dust that had finally settled

trying to make sense of it

trying to find you, still

yet the only proof of your existence were

sunbleached floors outlining where your bed used to be

a path worn into the wood at the door way

the south-facing window with chipping paint and our names scrawled into it

and i didn't blame you for leaving

you've said you wanted out of this city since you can remember

outsider in your own home

and it had been six months then, since your mother passed

yet certain places still smelled medicinal, almost clinical

and i tried hard not to be selfish

for me and for you

because it's what you would've wanted, the only thing we ever argued about

the only time i felt smaller than you because you were right and we both knew it

but standing there in what was your bedroom,

in what was your kitchen,

in what were your hallways,

i still couldn't help it to look to what used to be your striped wallpaper and your oak wood floors

and beg you to have left me something more to remember you bye

or for another night to have dinner to share

or for you to stay all together

even if it hurt you