His phone reads 5:55. He hasn’t slept. Instead he waits. Waits for the message she will never send, for the call she will never make, for the voice mail she’ll never leave. He knows this, but still he hopes. He hopes and waits.
He lies cocooned in his black comforter. His hair remains messy. She liked it messy. His face grizzly as his unshaved beard crept on his face, she liked him clean.
Across the room her crumpled picture sits in front of the trash can, a failed attempt of letting go. She smiles. The smile of a happy memory that now fills his heart with sorrow. A smile that shines through the room. Over the piles of laundry he never bothered to do, the trash he never bothered to take out, the plates of food he never bothered to finish.
Empty bottles of Mickies scatter around the room. On tables on chairs, on the floor. Bottles that were to drunk to find their way to the recycling bin. The failed attempts to forget. Instead they paint a vivid picture of the time they got drunk and she told him she loved him. That she would never leave him. He lies in his mess of thoughts and memories. Does she still think of him like he thinks of her?
He turns over. Time moves too slow. He tries to forget. He wants to scream, he wants to run, he wants to forget. Memories play in his head like a broken record. He still feels her, still hears her, still sees her. He can’t breathe. His chest grows heavy, he tosses and turns and begs for sleep.
Outside, a train cries in the distance. It drags along sleepily closer and closer. His apartment watches and waits, staring as the train draws closer down the tracks. The train grabs his apartment, it shakes it. Bottles jump from the resting place, coming to the floor. They explode like fireworks. The bits jump, run, dance to the rhythm of the trains song.
The train train continues its song. It fills every crevice off the small apartment. He doesn’t hear it, he remains unaware. Instead, another voice sings in his head. It whispers to him sweetly. I don’t love you, get over me. The train leaves, it doesn’t shut the door. It walks away, to work, to school, to elsewhere.
He stays in his room in silence. Its 6 a.m and he still hasn’t slept.