Day 1: You are gone, but I still expect you to walk in through the door.
Day 5: My heart ached and I cried as I waited again.
Day 7: I woke up screaming last night; the memories plague me.
Day 8: I went to visit you today.
Day 11: Everyone is walking on eggshells.
Day 16: Your things are left untouched.
Day 17: I felt your presence, but my mind has fun tormenting me.
Day 18: I went to visit you today.
Day 21: Your last pack of Marlboro Lights is with me where ever I go.
Day 30: The world kept spinning while I stood catatonic.
Day 36: The nightmares are less, but still vivid.
Day 40: I went to visit you today.
Day 53: They've packed your things, though I fought them.
Day 64: I lay awake last night, thinking of your laugh.
Day 70: They want me to forget.
Day 76: They kept me from seeing you today.
Day 79: The leaves have fallen and I cried for the second time.
Day 81: The sun set a while ago, I just couldn't grasp that until now.
Day 89: No more eggshells, just solid ground; each day brings less nightmares.
Day 90: I went to visit you today and it was bearable.
Day 91: Realization dawned on me - your memory is like a melody that I don't want to leave my head.
Nintey-one days have passed and I grow stronger with each one after.
To think, I could learn to grow from such a disaster.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry: Blossoming River
PoetryAn anthology of a portion of my dark, foolishly loving, or morbid thoughts. But it's not all gloom and doom either. Read at your own risk. Enjoy.
