No King At the Throne

I lay there and I listened to every sound that came through the night: the floorboards creaking, the wind blown window blinds beating against the metal window frame, the scuttling of rodents in the roof, the odd disconcerting sound that I could not identify I pressed my face into my pillow, slowing my breathing, whilst the pillowcase soaked up my tears, my forehead burning hot. “It hurts,” I thought, and with that thought another memory of him filled my mind and my pillowcase, drenched and pressed against my hot face, began to feel like a hot wet cloth I was thirsty, but unmotivated to care for myself I had lost all ambitions to live a life worthy of being alive Once we parted, I began living each day, as a day to be spent and forgotten, nothing had meaning, and nothing felt passionate. “I will never leave you,” were words we had often exchanged; yet words we never lived up to “I am already gone,” were words I had used to leave him, and he let go No promise kept of “I am always here.” I never let another man in to what I considered his kingdom I was a queen with no king, at my throne I lay there, silently begging him to come back, knowing that after all I had done, if he were to return it would be, at his own will and with each passing year, I lay there and I listened to every sound that came through the night