When you left I wasn’t ready
how could I practice whispering your last words
to your parents after you were gone,
I’m scared I’ll adopt too many dogs to replace you.
I’ll stop going to your favorite restaurant, I’ll probably stop going anywhere at all to be honest
everywhere I look is life, and it hurts to know
that I’ll never see you blush again.
I went on your facebook wall today,
saw all the R.I.P. posts and knew that half of these people had never even met you, and none of them had so much as called you those last months.
my psychologist says I should stop writing these letters to you
she says it’s not healthy to send them to your PO Box and try to feel
like you’re reading them from some far away beach on vacation
After your funeral I don’t know that any of us really knew how to walk away
As if putting you in a box and throwing some dirt on top
could ever commemorate your beautiful days spent alive
I always thought, we buried our loved ones out of tradition,
but now I think it’s to forget about them.
We think if we dig a deep enough hole,
we don’t have to remember that they’re underneath our feet,
rotting in a four thousand dollar case.
Your side of the bed is still yours.
I’ve actually retired to sleeping on the floor next to the bed.
It all feels like your side.
Your toothbrush is still in the drawer,
and your favorite foods in the cupboards,
I never thought I’d feel like an intruder in my own house.
I started going to group therapy,
thought maybe the pounding in my head would stop.
I wish you were here so I could ask you
what your last heartbeat felt like
Because I’m pretty sure that mine stopped pumping
blood at the exact same time as yours
I swore I didn’t think it was possible to
live in a world without you
The minute I felt your hands go limp,
I knew I wasn’t alive anymore
Your guitar still sits in the corner of my room,
covered in dust.
Sometimes I flip through your old books, and breathe deeply
even now, it’s comforting knowing I’ve touched
the same worn pages that you have.
I’ve been spending a lot of nights getting
so drunk that I forget the way your
hair smelled for a while,
and the way your breath felt against my shoulder
I knew for so long that
you’d be gone one day
But no matter how much you prepare yourself,
you can never really be ready for everything
you live for
-Faded absence, via wordsforyesterday