car space

i stare at the car space
beneath my bedroom
and his car isn't there

it has not been there
for almost five years
but still, i freeze up
whenever a car temporarily claims it as their own
still, i fear
when the headlights make patterns on my ceiling
and the hum of the engine 
makes my heart rate spike
i should know by now
it isn't him 
but i still find it hard to believe 

since he left
i have danced in that car space
sunbathed
stretched out on blankets 
played giant snakes and ladders
practised choreography
curled up on the ground with cramps in the middle of summer
i have made it my own
an attachment to my home

but there is one splatter of paint
stubborn
refusing to be washed away
from when he was painting his tyres
in my future dance studio
its been years
it wont disappear
a constant reminder
that he used to be here
and i wish it wasnt red 
it feels much more ominous than paint
like an artefact of the past
the pain of my younger self
who had to listen to that engine
see those lights on her ceiling
and brace for the hatred

i will repeat the truth to myself
until i believe it 
he's not coming back
he is not
coming back

i stare out of my window 
at the dance studio
the sunbed
the extension of my home

sure that someday
it will be only paint
i will use the empty space
to create the childhood 
i should've known.

21:31pm - 26/02/24.