Erin wasn’t here today. I knew this every time I glanced towards where I’m trained to expect her being. And I didn’t miss her because in some parts, Erin was still there, lingering in the back of my mind, as I continuously fixed the idea of her towards a spotlight. I didn’t realize how much a routine can imprint on me, until, like pulling a faded pink wad of gum out of hair or an impertinent stain, my life was thrown off balance. I wonder if she is the Earth or the Sun; either way, I know I am purely the invisible branches enveloping the dusk, ash, dirt, and black. I barely know how to breathe or think or eat without her. But I still crave something more. Like Eve and her curiosity, love, or doubt to ever dream of the beyond. Everyday before now, I never realized I was hungry, so I gave Erin a bright red apple from my lunch. Every day to the point she didn’t ask and I didn’t have to bother saying it was a gift.
She wasn’t here, yet, out of habit, I got her apple anyway. I didn’t think about it. My hand just lunged toward it like an impulse or an itch in dry air. When I finished eating, I was still hungry–though little left resides: a pit in my stomach wallowing in and breaking free. Maybe I was bound to the acquired taste of sinning and its sugar coat. So then lunch gave me a bitter after-taste that I was not used to, because a rotting smile doesn’t hurt when smothered in honey eyes such as hers for so long—drowning in broad daylight before it is able to breathe again.
It doesn’t hurt until the world is dry but windy. The sun is hot but beautiful. And the air curls threateningly around a fragile soul–creeping until the moment I am not myself anymore. And could care less. I crave more than I should. My heart is bigger than my stomach. It’s a disease I feed on like a parasite. Or a host, embracing the pain. I never thought feeling weightless would feel so degrading. In heavy breaths and footsteps. I gave Erin my soul yet still walked the Earth without it, so am I even human?
The apple makes me starve.
I do not know who I am without you.
