Motionless (Blankness)

     You finally stood up, and the chair you had once rested upon fell backwards. It seemed as if it would fall forever, before crashing into the ground. The sound it made was muffled and low. The thought of a past moment filled my mind. You were sitting down at the table, and the chair wasn't on the floor, your lips were still pressed together. Outside, the sky was unusual, it looked like it could crack at any instant, like it would shed its skin and come roaring down, and yet, it didn't feel like it would rain. It did. The rain brought with it a cool air, hung motionless in the room, cold enough to be uncomfortable, but not cold enough for anything else. I could see your trembling spine, subtle as ever, as soft whispered shivers ran through it. You shifted in your seat, staring outside at the weeping sky. Some drops entered the house through a broken window. I can't remember if you broke it, or me. Directly in front and beneath the window was our dining table, impeccably white. It held white plates, which still held the smell of a fine dinner, now gone. It provoked memories. So did the empty wine cups, and the empty bottles. You had in front of you a cup of coffee, a faint kiss on the edge of the ceramic, and an unlit cigarette, and a photograph. It was a special photograph, of us, we are facing each other. I wrote something on it for you, something that made you cry. Then, of course, there was you. Beautiful as ever, so soft, so graceful, so elegant. You had fixed your hair for the occasion. Your lips looked inviting, yet stern and serious. You had put on the red dress I had chosen for you. It went well with your skin, which expanded and spread before me, inciting, exciting, like sunbeams, melting into a warm ocean, calm as daylight. I could not help but look at your neck, your arms, your breasts. I could lose myself in them for days, and often did. You looked like a day of rain. Or like a star that shines inward. Then I saw your eyes. Your eyes had never looked so profound, and in them I saw a storm brewing, a tempest of wrath and tears.
     Then time collapsed in on itself. I opened my eyes. You stood up. The chair you had once rested upon fell backwards. It seemed as if it would fall forever, before crashing into the ground. The loud sound it made did not startle me. Your lips slowly separated, you began to scream and yell but I could not hear you. You had a photograph on your hand, and it was of us. I had written something on it but the rain that had come in through the broken window ran the ink, and made the letters unclear. Your sudden movements made the table shake in terror, and the coffee spilled over, ruining the perfect white. You clutched the photograph in your fist, as if that would make you forget the words it spoke to you. As if the ink could run through your veins instead, and make you understand. An empty bottle of wine shattered behind me, it was almost a metaphor. Your lungs filled the room and the soft murmur of your hate boomed with rage and your hand became a hammer as the table filled with broken plates and broken blood and the entire world trembled under your passion and you cursed my name as your breath gave way, as your breath finally gave way, and the silence seemed almost arcane now. You stopped. You said you would leave, I knew you would. You walked towards me, and I was almost laying down on the couch, where we had so many memories. I held a crystal glass, filled with water. You stood before me, and I've never seen you so angry. Your lips kept moving, but I could not perceive any words. I looked at you with tired eyes, and you remained silent, tears putting out the fire in your heart. You slowly began to undress, until you were nothing but skin and shadows.
     Each step you took brought me closer to you. Our fists holding on to particles, moving away from each other at the speed of light. I could almost feel you, I could reach out my hand and hold your body, but I didn't. I didn't move a muscle, and you didn't speak a word. You were a reflection of my shadows. Your lips started moving again, slower, and I couldn't comprehend your strange sounds. It seemed as if your lips threw these words at me.
                               The particles had come to a stop.


   You got on top of me, leaned in for a kiss, I stopped you, I put my hands around your neck. I felt you become desperate as you squirmed for air. I let go, I felt your breasts press against my chest as you leaned closer. I stabbed you... I killed you...

     I wish I had, then you would have never walked out that door.  The thought of a past moment filled my mind. You finally stood up, and the chair you had once rested upon fell backwards. It seemed as if it would fall forever, before crashing into the ground. The sound it made was muffled and low. You looked at me with pity as you got up, my motionless body staring at nothing, my eyes blank. I had a photograph on my chest. It was a special photograph, of us, we are facing each other. I wrote something on it for you, something that made you cry. Blood-soaked it fell to the floor. We would never see each other again.