Nothing Compares 2 U

It had been 15 days since she left, and JM still felt the echo of her absence in every corner of his life. The calendar marked the time, one day after another, each number mentally crossed off in thick, frustrated lines. But it didn’t matter how many days passed. It didn’t matter what he did to fill the hours—nothing seemed to touch the hollowness she left behind.

The home felt smaller now, even though Pat hadn’t taken much with her. She hadn’t needed to. Her presence had filled the space so completely that her leaving emptied everything. The plant she gave me has  begun to droop, their leaves curling at the edges, with no sign for a dragon fruit.  Its’ care forgotten by him in his haze. He stared at it wondering why he didn’t just it them away. But he couldn’t. It was the same reason he couldn’t change anything—couldn’t move the books she’d left on the coffee table, couldn’t rearrange the couch, couldn’t even bring himself to sleep on her side of the bed.

It all stayed the same. Because in the stillness, in the familiarity of the space she had once inhabited, he could almost believe she was still there.

He had tried, God knows he had tried, to move on. To pick up the pieces of his life and pretend that he didn’t feel like he was drowning in the absence of her. His friends had encouraged him—invited him out, told him it was time to get back out there, that she wasn’t the only woman in the world. And maybe they were right. Maybe there was someone else out there who could fill the space she left behind.

But none of it felt real. Not the bars, not the conversations with strangers, not even the fleeting interest of women who smiled at him from across the room. He would smile back, say all the right things, but it was hollow. They weren’t Pat. They could never be her.

JM leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling, wondering for the hundredth time what had gone wrong. There hadn’t been some explosive fight, no dramatic exit. Just her standing at the door one morning, suitcase in hand, saying she needed to figure things out. He had nodded, dumbfounded, thinking she’d be back in a few days. A week, maybe. But that was six months ago, and the phone calls had dwindled to nothing.

He hadn’t heard her voice in weeks.

The days blurred together, each one a reminder of her absence. He tried to fill the hours with work, with distractions, with anything that might make the time pass faster. But no matter what he did, the nights were always the hardest. The quiet would creep in, slow and suffocating, pressing against him until all he could hear was the echo of her voice in his head.

She used to sing while she cooked. Nothing fancy, just a hum here and there, a soft melody under her breath as she moved around the kitchen. He didn’t realize how much he loved that sound until it was gone, until the silence in the home became deafening.

JM stood up, pacing the living room as if movement might shake loose the tightness in his chest. He glanced out the window, watching the streetlights flicker to life as the sun set. The world kept moving. People walked by, cars honked, life continued as if nothing had changed. But for him, everything was different.

He had lost her, and with her, he had lost a part of himself he wasn’t sure he’d ever get back.

The phone rang, startling him from his thoughts. He stared at it for a moment, his heart leaping irrationally at the possibility that it might be her. But it wasn’t. It never was. Just another friend checking in, offering empty reassurances, trying to pull him back into a world that felt foreign without her.

He let it go to voicemail.

The truth was, JM didn’t want to be pulled back. He didn’t want to forget her, didn’t want to pretend that she was just another chapter in his life that he could close and move on from. She was woven into him, into the fabric of his being, and no matter how much time passed, he knew nothing would change that.

Nothing compared to her.

He had tried. He had tried to convince himself that she was just one of many, that there would be others, that time would heal the wound. But the truth sat heavy in his chest, unshakable.

She wasn’t just another person. She was the person. The one who had seen him for who he was and loved him anyway. The one who had made him feel like he was enough. And now, without her, everything felt dull, muted, like the color had drained out of his world and left him living in shades of gray.

JM ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling up in him. He wanted to scream, to shout at the universe for taking her from him, but he knew it wouldn’t change anything. She had made her choice, and all he could do was live with it.

But living without her felt like something less than living.

He sank back onto the couch, staring at the empty seat beside him, the space where she used to curl up, her head resting on his shoulder. He could still feel the weight of her there, even now, like a ghost haunting the room.

Maybe she’d come back. Maybe one day, she’d realize what they had and she’d return, and everything would go back to the way it was. But he knew better. He knew she was gone, not just from this apartment but from him. And no matter how much he wanted to hold on to hope, it was slipping through his fingers, just like she had.

The night stretched on, the city outside humming with life. But inside, in this quiet apartment filled with memories of her, JM sat alone, waiting for a door that would never open.

And as the silence pressed in, he whispered to the emptiness, “Nothing compares to you.”

But no one was there to hear it.