a year full of life

living and dying felt one in the same

i wrote a letter to you everyday that you stayed asleep, it started off as a way to pass the time that you weren't with me but quickly morphed into the only reason i was still breathing [the pieces of myself that i beared between each line in hopes that you could some day read of my neverending love for you].

sometimes i'd write of the times i remember together with you [which was truly innumerable because i never could forget a moment that we were wrapped tightly together]: how we would somersault between dandelions and throw rocks over the moon; how we would lay sunkissed and blissed over warmed bunches of sand; how we would simply just stare into each other's eyes, searching for the little sparks of bonfires laying somewhere hidden inside their irises.

other times i'd write of the moments i hope to have with you in the future [a future i begged for at the end of your empty bed every single day]: how we could braid each other's hair on sunday afternoons, fingers lazily slipping past strands and dragging across sore necks; how we could spend our mornings, limbs beginning and never ending, the smell of you permanently tattooed into the seems of my clothes; how we could wish upon shooting stars, hands tracing freckles lit up by moonlight that danced in the once warmed sand.

but most importantly i'd write of how i wish that our time together before you were laid to rest could've been another infinity in itself. how i wish that time could stop and wait for me to catch up with the thought of the two of us no longer hand and hand. how i wish that your empty bed didn't mean you were never coming home. i wrote of the possibility that you weren't coming back and how i wish that your favorite flower wasn't a sunflower because everyone kept bringing you peonies [and that just wasn't right when you could never come back - there was no healing from scars that lay under mountains of dirt and tears, there was no healing when you had left me and were never coming back].

if i knew no pain i'd write of how happy i was that you didn't have to live in a world that was dim of your light [how lucky you were to be up somewhere laughing your sweet daisy laugh while everyone down here begged for a world that you weren't buried beneath the ground, a plaque the only thing left to remember you by] but truly i can say i have not lived a day since you left, in happiness: just in sad slips of tongue about how i would head to work after you got out of the shower; in aching dreams of my hands grasping at pitch black air, hoping for your soft hands; in miserable routines built for two, performed by one; in a heart that had learned to love you so so wholly that without the image of my affections it was left so bleeding a numb that living and dying felt one in the same.