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I don’t know what they mean when they say I won’t see you ever again.
I don’t know how to do that, and if I ever learn the ways, I don’t want to do them.
How can they say—I can feel you still?
I can smell you still, but I can’t see you in the flesh.
I won’t be able to wrap my arms around you.
I won’t be able to kiss you good morning and goodnight.
I won’t be able to see your smile, the happiness in your laugh, the glimmer in your eyes.
How can they say if I ever miss you, I just have to look up and let my heart point me to where you are among the stars?
How can they say you will always be here when you’re no longer with me? That’s sad enough to know; what’s even sadder is I have to live with it every day from here on forward.
It’s ironic how grief sometimes becomes a solace. You find me standing here, faking smiles, sharing the same old stories—but all I ever wanted is to run back home, curl up in bed, free my tears, and remember you because I know I will be all well again.
I don’t know how to lose you, even more how to bring you back again.
So, can you tell me what they mean when they say you will forever be—just a memory…
*image: californong / unsplash
