I sat down by the river Styx.

I did not realized that I had missed

The way my life had been before

I found a job upon this shore.

I take her coins, his tears, her soul,

I listen as they bargain and search a for loop hole.

I was numb to the pain in my heart

Until she climbed upon my boat and with a start

From a small part of me that had been gone

An aching beat had been drawn.

She had handed me her silver dime

And with a look as old as time

Tried to place where she had known me

But through my thick mask she could not see

Her lonely son whom she had let become

A darkened monster that those run from.

She sat silently in my boat

And as my words caught in my throat

We reached the Underworld and she moved on

Without a goodbye to her son Charon. 

I sit down by this river Styx

and crave the life that I had missed. 

Do you keep a piece my heart hidden in my stolen copy of The Catcher in the Rye?

Do you hold a tiny sliver of my smile in the poster of mine hanging on your cork board wall? 

Do you hoard a fraction of my warmth in the photos of us you've stored in the bottom of your drawer?

Do you keep a piece of me in everything you've buried away from the light?

Do you hush those pieces into a dark crevice so they no longer know what love feels like?

I can feel their absence. 

I can feel their ache. 

I want them back. 

I will gladly give you back the piece of your heart I've kept wrapped in your sweatshirts.

And the tiny sliver of the smile you wore that I repress in my memories.

I will hand over the fraction of your warmth that I am prone to draw out from under my bed when I am at my coldest. 

And all the pieces of the whole I'll never have again if it means I can start to piece myself back together. 

I had been waiting. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I was entirely prepared for what was coming next. My eyes fixed on the door, I stared into the reflection on the golden doorknob waiting for it to shake, to turn, to show any inclination of someone on the other side. Sweat beads dripped down from the spot behind my neck hidden with hair and my joints ached with anticipation. Since Monday morning, I had seen him coming. He lurked behind me in the coffee shop, he sat across from me on the subway, he peered at me through the spaces vacant with books in the shelves of the library. At first, he made me want to run. He had an essence of cold around him, like the air coming of a defrosting freezer bag of carrots. Yet, as the days went on, and his everlasting presence continued, I came to terms with Death following me and looked forward to seeing him. Each day, he gradually got closer to me, invading my space, making me shiver. This morning, he spoke my name. It was a horse whisper, only I could hear it below the low grumble of the wheels on the train track. I knew my time had come. I have sat on the edge of my bed, a paper freshly inked on my desk, and I sit quit and still, waiting for death. It is only just know that I have noticed the turn of the handle. The door has creaked open, only allowing a small sliver of the moonlight to be let in. His long, grey fingers drape around the side of my door with a gentleness. He slowly slides the door open and reveals himself. His grey lifeless skin bounces the moonlight off perfectly, and his appearance shocks me. He appears to be young, with short black hair and deep black eyes. He looks at me with, I'd call it an uncomfortable remorse. He walks towards me, making no sound, and sits next to me on the bed. He places his cold hand on my knee and with a sigh says, "I'm not going to take you with me." I ask him why. I was ready to live in eternity with him, I had come to terms with my death. He says in a murmur, "I do not want to take you with me. Please stop following me around all day. I have tried to communicate with you, but it seems you will not listen, so I had to come here tonight. Young, sad girls tend to have a fascination with me, but I do not want you. You have an inner essence of hope and happiness. It's you, not me." With that, Death lifted himself from my bed, patted my knee, and left the way he came. I laid back on my bed, wondering how Death had just broken up with me.