Six Months and One Day

I watched you exhale for the last time and I grew cold.

Your body lay still before me and I could not move.

Your death took the jagged shape of the piece of me long broken as it stabbed me in whatever was left of my believing soul.

It has been six months and you are still dead.

It has been six months and I am grieving and nothing can comfort me.

You are gone and I am writing to you as if you could respond.

That shard of you is embedded in my depths and I am afraid to dig it out because I am afraid it is all I’ll ever have of you.

I am no stranger to loss.

Death and I are friends.

But your death still feels like it is happening in front of me over and over again as if you want me to give it a damn explanation.

Death and I are friends.

We don’t need to explain things to each other.

It’s been six months and one day and it feels like a second ago that I watched you exhale for the last time and I grew cold.