when I stretch my arms across your half of the bed at night
I imagine myself to be drowning in a river,
no stones in my pockets,
just a heavy heart that weighs me down.
in the grocery store I say your name
and often turn to look for you,
as if you will be in the next aisle,
searching for eggs and milk.
on the drive to work or the walk to the mailbox
I say your name again; I am constantly saying your name;
I will forever be saying your name.
the sheets are sour and deliciously quiet in our bedroom
still filled with your scent,
the way your spine curved against mine
your cold feet finding their way to my warm skin.
here is the bathtub, where we made love for the first time;
here is the sink,
here is the kitchen, missing you,
here are the forks and knives who sit in silence;
here is the letterbox, the curtains;
here is the weight I carry with me of forever loving you.
but no one loves a funeral
and the truth is this: it will never get any easier.