when i reached into my chest and pulled out my heart,
it was too big for one hand to hold.
there was a phantom pulse in my palms,
like drums beating in mourning.
i put my heart into the largest jar i could find,
stuffing it in with sprigs of rosemary and lavender and baby's breath.
when i set it on the shelf,
i felt an ache of loss and ignored how it grew as i stitched my bosom.
being empty hurt less than the convulsions in my breast every time i thought of you.
in these two years,
i've already forgotten the way your voice scolded me teasingly.
i've forgotten the softness of your permed curls.
i can't remember just exactly how your eyes gazed at me with pride and love.
i have pictures,
of course,
so many damned pictures.
but they don't replace how empty my arms feel without your hugs.
my breath is coffee sour without your offering of mentos and never leaves my mouth.
sometimes i think i drink black coffee to be edgy,
sometimes for the taste,
but i mostly think it's in memory of you.
it's been two years,
and i still can't grasp that this is real life.
you're gone.
you aren't going to walk into the house with a,
"yoo-hoo!"
you aren't going to get the family's attention with your,
"okay, gang!"
you won't be there to hug me tight when i graduate,
or wipe my happy tears when i marry,
and you won't ever spoil you great animal children.
you don't get to marvel at how long my hair is and wrinkle your nose when i mention cutting it.
you aren't here to brush it behind my ear when it gets in my eyes.
i don't get to compare my height to yours anymore.
maybe one day i'll dust off the jar and replace the part that's missing.
but maybe,
just maybe,
one day doesn't exist.
this existence hurts but it hurts less to be heartless.
