Nothing
makes up
for
the loss
of
you,
not
pretty words
or
songs
or
anything.
There
is
a
hole
at the
centre
of
my being
where
my
soul
used
to
be,
where
my
heart
used
to
be.
I feel
your loss
as keenly
as
the day
I lost you.
More,
actually.
The only way
I
can cope
with it
is to say
that every day
is
one
day
closer
to being
with you
again.
I'm
counting
the
days,
my love.
When
Death
comes
I
will greet it
with
a
sigh
of
gratitude
that
the weariness
of days
alone
are
finally
over.
When
Death
comes,
I
have no
regrets,
not one
and
I
will
enter
that
embrace
gladly,
willingly,
with all
the love
in my heart.
When
Death
comes,
it
will
wear
the face
of
my beloved,
and I
will be
forever
content
to rest
in
his
arms.
You
your spirit
haunts me
my love.
You
are
the quiet
presence always
at
my
shoulder
and
every
day
I
am driven
to
tears
without you
here
with me
in
the flesh.
Though
I am
grateful
you
are close,
I would so
love
a hug,
a smile,
one
of
your laughs.
I miss you.
I love you.
In the still
of
the
night,
when
the world
sleeps,
I cry
for you
for
us
for all
the time
I
have to spend
away
from you
until
I
can be
in those
sweet
arms
again.
Come
back
for
me
please.
Soon.
Now.
I
miss it,
my love,
the sound
of
your
breathing
in sleep,
your heart
beating
next
to mine.
I
miss
it
so much.
I
miss
you.
Goodnight,
darling
sweetie.
💔
People
tell
me,
all
the
time,
it'll get better.
Give it
a
year,
and
you'll feel
differently.
Does
a
person
who's lost
a
limb
get
better?
Will a year
make
a
difference
to
them?
The only
difference
between
an
amputee
and
me
is that
you can see
what
they
have lost.
I have lost
my heart,
my soul,
my everything,
and yet,
I live
and look
whole.
This is
my
sin.
This is
what
allows
people
to
decide
that
I will
get
"better".
And all those
well-meaning
people
who say
that it will
"scar over", that
you'll still walk,
but
with a limp
to remember
it
by,
simply do not
understand.
I walk.
I put
one
foot
in front
of
the
other.
Because
I need
to
take
care
of things,
as
he
would
want
me
to.
But
I
am
empty
hollow,
walking,
breathing
but
already
dead.
Do not look
to me
for
comfort.
I have
none
to
give.
I
walk
and
I
wait.
I haunt
cemeteries,
empty
churches,
funerals.
I
find
that
being among
the dead
brings me
far
more
peace
than
being among
the
living.
