Gutted. I have no clever words today, no poetic turn to mask my grief. I have only fist pounding as I collapse to the floor, screaming for him until my throat is raw with sorrow. Anyone who tells you that it gets better is lying. It gets worse, as the days without him stretch on, as the world gets on with its life and people start to pretend he never existed. Someday. Someday I will join him. And then it won’t matter. The world can forget me. I’ll be in the arms of my beloved, and I won’t care.

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This is me

And I am in despair. Yet, there are those that insist I help them overcome their grief. He was MY husband. You may have played music with him 20+ years ago, but he was MY love, MY partner, and how dare you tell me you don’t know how you’ll go on without him. Don’t look to me for comfort. I have none to give. And if you want to know how to go on without him, try my life. I sleep alone. In his flannel shirts. Wrapped up in his bathrobe because it still smells like him. And I wake up every morning and put one foot in front of the other. Because that’s what he expects me to be able to do, until I don’t have to anymore. And when you ask me, whining for comfort, I have one answer for you. Deal with it. I do.

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My Day

Every day
I wake up
and think,
“damn.”
When I realize
that
I’m
still alive
and likely
to be so
all
day,
I
have
coffee
I
shower
I
put
makeup
on,
and
try
to face
another
day
without
him.
It’s
hard
when
you long
for
death.

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Holes

I have
a
sadness
too
heavy
for
words,
a
hole
where
heart
and
soul
once
dwelled.
My love
is
dead
and
there
is
no light
can
penetrate
this
darkness,
too
heavy,
too
much
to
bear.

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Broken

I am
broken.
Heart,
soul,
spirit
are
shattered
without
you.
I am
hollow,
a shell
without
a centre,
a husk
without
substance
without
you.
You
were
the
best part
of
everything,
Earth
Moon
Sun
Stars
Me.

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sorry

Sorry
for your
loss
as if
I’ve
lost
my keys,
a favourite
shirt,
but not
my love
my life
my
everything.
And they
don’t want
to
go
into detail.
Leave it
sterile,
clean,
no real emotions
to muddy up
their
sympathies.

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life

I
wake up
crying
most days.
Okay,
all of them.
I
stick
my face
in your closet
for
the smell of you
lingers
there.
Your desk
is the same.
Your side
of the table.
And I sleep
on the couch.
I can’t sleep
in our bed
yet.
It’s too cod
without you.
I sleep
in your shirt,
wrapped
in your
bathrobe,
hoping
to never
wake
up.

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