That Day

I still remember that day like it was yesterday.

Shivering from the cold I tried pulling the blankets a little bit to cover myself, but instead of hearing you groan and fight for the blanket again I was just able to pull it without any effort. When I turned over to look at you where you normally sleep I only saw an empty spot, pillow neatly positioned and blankets folded at the end of the bed.

The bracelet I had gotten you for your birthday that I took a week off from school to afford was placed on the pillow, still feeling a little bit warm thanks to your body temperature.

The bathroom with its door slightly ajar where I could see you looking in the mirror, putting your make up on while humming a song was this time now empty, with all the lights off.

The table that was usually set by you when you woke up early to make breakfast was untouched, no smell of food that would normally wake me up and wonder to the kitchen, where you'd look at me smiling to then give me a morning kiss.

The couch where I would spend most of my time with you, watching movies in an oversized hoodie I stole from you, where we ended up falling asleep because we were too lazy to go back to our room.

The closet which inhabited all your hoodies that I'd occasionally steal, where your ripped jeans laid and your caps, the dress that you wore to the party were we met even though you hated dresses, clothes that even though they were simple looked beautiful when you wore them, now gone, making extra space for my own clothes.

I still remember the day when you were suddenly standing at the door after having cleaned up all your stuff, like as if you destroyed any evidence of your existence, cleaning the house of any trace you might have left behind, making it look like all those years we spent together never happened.

The day that you looked into my eyes, but even though you looked at me, it looked like you were looking into the distance, something far away from your heart.

The day that you told me you didn't love me anymore.