It’s a fierce thing that
hits me hard every few hours,
a hard knot between my sternum and soul
that refuses to unravel,
a despair so sharp I am sure
it could break me.
The days between the day you died
feel like centuries.
There is so much to tell you.
I brave this summer with chipped nails
and a silent half-empty heart,
where your memory, our memories,
sit to stew and fuel me until tomorrow,
where I will have to wake up,
and start over again.