The soft showers of rain sing on my skin. They tap me awake, pull at the strings of memories buried within folds of skin, bone narrows and veins and blood vessels. I hear you, I see us; moments skitting through like a movie on replay. I am clapping my hands together, throwing my head back, pouring life into the universe from the sound of my laughter. You are sitting with an ever ready smile on your lips, your eyes pouring light unto my face. You say I am beautiful. My heart skips. My heart, like a big town hall hosting a party of people; cocktails mixed with sweat and laughing eyes that give way to aching bellies and stomping feet; loud jokes, cheery smiles, holding of hands, talking about boys who came and ones that could not stay. You promised you would stay. I thought you would.

It is a universe ago, that you have left me feeling like a second past midnight, the loud hush of a silent room; yet you remain with me as I remain with you– like a muted soundtrack, a muffled scream. And it empties me, this feeling drains me. But it’s  fine, baby. I promise, I am fine.

“Given the choice between the experience of pain and nothingness, I would choose pain.”

William Faulkner 


Kenopsia: the eerie or forlorn atmosphere of a place that is usually bustling with people but is now quiet and deserted. 

Source: Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows.


© The Short Black Girl, 2017.


3 thoughts on “Kenopsia.

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