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Grief is never as poetic as it's made out to be.
I never understood what that meant until I lost you. Even now, words can't describe how I'm feeling, no amount of explaining could put into words how it feels, but I'll try anyway.
It's cold.
Just like the bath water I've spent way too long in, fingers pruning up as I push my head into my knees. Hoping the pressure will keep the tears away.
Yet it's warm.
Just like how I sit in our bed, wrapped up in our blankets. In your shirt. Looking over at all the photos we've taken, all the letters you sent me.
It's empty.
Just like our home. I can't remember the last time I turned the living room light on and sat in front of the tv. I can't remember the last time I did more than just sleep here.
Yet it's full.
Just like before. I still have to go to work. I still have to meet my deadlines. I still have all of our friends. We speak of you so fondly, words bittersweet in our mouths.
It's filled with memories.
Everywhere I go. I still feel the ghost of your hand in mine whenever i walk down a busy street, I see you whenever I look up at the sky remembering how the stars used to sparkle in your eyes.
Yet I remember just how frail you looked, laying in the hospital bed, tubes coming from your nose and arms to keep you alive. Though you could only really tell by the beep of the heart monitor and the way your chest moved up and down.
I miss you.
So much.
I didn't realise how much I would until you were gone.
Whoever said it was better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all lied.
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YOU ARE READING
~ HUMAN INTROSPECTION ~
Poetry~*~*~*~ ~*~*~*~ A collection of poetry and philosophical questions made to question the relations and views we have of ourselves and others. I encourage readers to explore themselves and allow their thoughts to run unfiltered while reading. I hope...
