No Signs of You


Whoever said that men can’t share their honest feels will want to recant that statement once that read this!

No Signs of You

I woke up this morning reaching out for you

I realize after my arm hit the empty space next to me

The space where the sheets had not been disturbed

That there are no signs of you having ever been here.

The night stand designated as yours has been cleared

and the pair of shoes that managed to trip me every morning

had been removed from my path.

Unsure of all that I was witnessing

I sprung into action in search of more evidence.

The closet in the master bedroom that you forced me out of

Now bare ‘cept for a few wire hangers and a empty shoe box.

The bathroom vanity no longer clutter with your beauty aids.

No curling irons, hot combs, or rollers.

No flat irons, hair dryers, or aerosol cans to push out of the way

Making it difficult for me to start my day.

No pink razors in the trash or the little clear caps.

“This has got to be a nightmare,” I tell myself as I pace in circles.

“There was I coffee table here last night,” I scream as I search the living room.

I couldn’t believe the table was gone.

The same table that held so many of our memories.

The table that we’ve had to send out for repairs after a few wild and crazy nights.

Looking to the left and the right I notice that’s not the only thing missing.

The couch and love seat that you fell in love with

before we could enter the store good.

The one we spent so many nights curled up on

We watched so many movies there and now its gone.

Something about Mary and Meet the Fockers were your favorite

And Wedding Crashers drove me crazy but we watched it anyway

With hot sauce popcorn and red Kool-aid….the memories.

Now standing in this empty space

I can’t begin to conceive what went wrong.

This use to be a home.

You could’ve at least picked up the phone

And gave me courtesy call to let me know

That life as I knew it was about to take a huge turn.

The pictures of us that once grace the walls have vanished.

Your name scraped off the mail box.

The only clues that show that this place may have been shared

By a couple at some point were in the kitchen.

The remnants of what appears to have been a chicken

And a box of steal corn flakes…go figure.

Now I’m moving from shock and confusion to anger and frustration

Throwing the office chair across the room,

Punching a hole in the wall nearest me

And the hot tears begin to sting my face.

In the mist of the chaos that’s now my life

I realize that there is one more indication,

One more piece of evidence that I need to find.

Without it, my fears will be confirmed.

Afraid of what I might find, I slowly rise to my feet.

Inching my way to the spare bedroom,

I run every scenario through my head and my possible reactions.

Still unsure if I’m ready to face reality, I stand at the door for a moment.

Removing my hands from the top of my head

I hold my breath pushing the door open.

Immediately I fall to my knees in disbelief.

The photograph of the five boys dressed in vintage clothes

Seated on the hood of a car on Chicago’s Southside in 1976 is missing.

The photo that you cherished more than any of those we took together is gone.

Broke down, busted, and disgusted I fall down on the bed.

Place my head in my hands

And marvel at the fact that there really are

No signs of you having ever been here.

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