These Words

Poetry does not know that it is poetry.

And you were the most beautiful poem.

Five months ago, today, our world disappeared.

What’s left of me daydreams, fantasizes, wishes, and prays. For waking up from nightmarish comas. For time machines. For miracles of physics. For deals with a God that I don’t even believe in. 

But I’m told I need to keep going. That I need to get through it, but also know I will never get over it. That it gets easier, but will never go away. 

They tell me that our lives are not worth much. They pass in an instant like roses wither. They tell me that the time that slips by is a bastard. That our sorrows are made into coats. Someone told me that you still loved me. Is that possible?

So while I wait to get through it, and for it to become easier, I do what I need to get by. I rebuild what was lost in the collateral damage. I choose new paths. I cherish what old connections remain. I take risks. I make mistakes. I stand back up. I hope that you still love me.

And just as it seems that some sort of happiness is still at hand, as I reach for it, I lose my mind.

And then I just miss you.

I wasted no time in replacing you. As soon as you left, I invited her in.

You see, she will never leave me as you did. She will always be with me. Beside me. In my heart and in my thoughts.

She fills my hopes and dreams. She’s in every plan I make, in every emotion I feel. She occupies all that you once had.

I’ve given her all the things that once were yours. Your home now belongs to her. Your car, your clothes, your jewelry. Your perfume. Your plants.

Your friends.

Your dogs.

I gave her everything.

Even the places, and songs, and foods, and inside jokes that were sacredly ours alone.

She will be mine for longer than you were. I will spend the rest of my life with her. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health. Till death parts her from me. That is her solemn vow.

For she is grief, and grief is her.

#dolor