The bed is a massive, gray sea, no longer with any life in it. I reach out, flayed out, whispering your name. You’re not there. I speak to you every night, my voice echoes across the gray ocean, arriving nowhere.
I’ve moved to your side since you’ve left. I dreamed that I was alone in a small boat, a dingy, awash among the waves, drifting and drifting and being pushed and pulled by the neverending gray hands beating against the boat. I’m a skeleton in this boat, left for dead.
The gulls don’t want me.