Reminders.

Every siren I hear takes me back to that night.

I went to find you.

The black in the house.

I knocked, but you didn’t answer.

The backyard as I peered in the windows.

The doors were all locked; I checked.

The creaking of the gate.

I had to at least feed then cat.

Then I saw.

That trail of red on the grout.

I can still feel my hands trembling around my phone.

The banging.

Pulling.

Prying the garage door up.

Your foot.

Your knee.

Your nose.

Then red and blue lights.

The constant noise yet deafening silence.

The darkness against the light.

Then the pushing me away. Blocking me out.

I was shaking. Crying.

The moon passed over. The people left.

I went home and slept.

Then the sun rose as I did.

But you didn’t.

I went back, in search of answers.

For comfort, for realness. For something.

I found where you lay.

Surrounded by what you loved.

A motorbike stood next to it.

That deep red and brown patch that was once your life.

I took a breathe. Which you could not.

I was embraced by my love.

Even though tears rolled down my face and I cursed you and I kicked the garage door.

I guessed it’s for the best.

Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’s not.

I love you but I hate you so much.

Where do I go from here?

I’m stuck in a cloud of confusion and emotion.

Can hardly see five feet in front of me.

Everywhere I turn there’s another reminder.

A reminder that takes me back to that night.