non-slaught

Is he really not going to reach out on my birthday?

He really is. He’s not going to text, message, snap, call, or FaceTime…I won’t read his words, hear his voice, or see his eyes smile at me…he won’t sing his favorite song to me, horribly off key…he won’t remind me that wherever we are in life, he remembers this day for me and all we once were and hoped to be for each other. An ever-present truce, two single days a year, every year…

That’s really it then isn’t it…

I knew it was. I knew it would be.

I was prepared. Responsibly gaurded. All precautions taken, all troops mobilized, everyone debriefed, even my fragile heart.

Girded, from within and without.

Ready for the non-slaught.

But the silence is still fucking deafening.

Roaring in a language of anguish that drowns me in its non-noise.

Prying that last breath of hope from its tiny fortress with vicious claws.

That’s really it then, isn’t it…

i knew it was. i knew it would be.

A final devastating defeat in the last battle of this non-war.

-Annie V.