A Lost Love
you're gone.
And I just don't know what to do. Unlike popular beliefs, I am not in shock. I
understand my loss, its depth and its repercussions. But what I do with all
these feelings I have? I can't pack them into a box and put it in storage like
I'll have to do with your stuff. I can't put them all in one folder and hide it
like I'll have to do with all our pictures. I can't throw them away, like
the plans for our future. So tell me, honey, what do I do with them?
When will I stop hyperventilating every time I smell your cologne in a crowd? What do I do with the rock over my chest, that I feel every time I reach across the bed in sleep for your warmth and don't find it? When am I going to stop staring at the walls of our home, redoing all the arguments we had as we painted them? When am I going to stop looking through your stuff, just to find one more thing I could keep you with me? When am I going to be able to look at another person, and stop trying to find you in them?
I don't remember our lasts. None of them. Because I didn't think it was the last. I didn't savour it. Imprint it into my memory. To last me a lifetime. A lifetime we envisioned together. A life without you.
I didn't go to meet you again. They said it's okay. To not be brave enough to face it. It's not that. I just don't want my last memory of yours to be something you won't share with me. You can't see me anymore, so neither will I. I might not remember them now, but someday I will.
For me, life is kind of paradoxical now. Too short to have lost you already, too long to spend it without you. Carriages full of memories, of dreams and dilemmas. But no destination to reach anymore. As I stand here stranded, with no one to tell me what to do, I wonder where I'm headed. If I'll ever reach there. If there's a point to all of this.
When will I stop hyperventilating every time I smell your cologne in a crowd? What do I do with the rock over my chest, that I feel every time I reach across the bed in sleep for your warmth and don't find it? When am I going to stop staring at the walls of our home, redoing all the arguments we had as we painted them? When am I going to stop looking through your stuff, just to find one more thing I could keep you with me? When am I going to be able to look at another person, and stop trying to find you in them?
I don't remember our lasts. None of them. Because I didn't think it was the last. I didn't savour it. Imprint it into my memory. To last me a lifetime. A lifetime we envisioned together. A life without you.
I didn't go to meet you again. They said it's okay. To not be brave enough to face it. It's not that. I just don't want my last memory of yours to be something you won't share with me. You can't see me anymore, so neither will I. I might not remember them now, but someday I will.
For me, life is kind of paradoxical now. Too short to have lost you already, too long to spend it without you. Carriages full of memories, of dreams and dilemmas. But no destination to reach anymore. As I stand here stranded, with no one to tell me what to do, I wonder where I'm headed. If I'll ever reach there. If there's a point to all of this.
Because I know,
I know life will go on. The pain will reduce. it will hurt a little bit less
with each passing day. With every dawn, your memory will become fainter. A bit
smudged at the edges. Imperfect. Until it grows on me, becomes a part of me.
But what do I do with all this love I have for you, when I don't have you to love anymore?
But what do I do with all this love I have for you, when I don't have you to love anymore?
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