I feel an emptiness in my chest

Today I woke up with a very strange feeling in my chest.

It looked cold, but the sun was burning outside. I thought it was winter, but I looked at the thermometer in the square, the one you could see from the window, and it read 30 degrees. Impossible. I didn’t feel it.

I took a shower. I washed my hair, soaped my body and ended up bumping my arm against the glass shower. It made a noise that reminded me of you. “There”. That cubicle was too cramped for both of us, right? Even so, I am well aware of the smiles we experience there. Even so, I didn’t hear the “ouch”. I didn’t feel the tightness, the touch, the heat. There seemed to be too much space there.

I turned off the shower and the water stopped flowing. I went to the bedroom, put on that linen shirt you liked. Only when I buttoned it did I remember the day I wore it on you. We were in that hidden place in the museum where only us went. And as much as we didn’t expect cold that day, he came and I warmed you up. Me and my linen blouse, which looked too tight on me.

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I ate that pizza I had left over from the night before, when I thought you were coming, in vain. I walked out into the hot city streets, but I couldn’t sweat. I went to work, and I did nothing but watch the minutes go by and the night fill the day. I opened my inbox, but none of them seemed important. I updated the cell phone every five minutes expecting new news, which did not come. Either they miss wars, or they are killed and wounded. Everything looked gray. And I was already on my way out when I bumped into a man in a lab coat who was in the elevator. It was he who spoke first. He said I looked pale.