The first night without you, I reached for your hand in my bed. Instead, the glaring blue light illuminated a remote cupped in my right hand. Deep and longing in a sea of grief, I suffocated. I let my lungs fill with water and gave up. In time, I floated above the waves, and I waded through those long months without you. Even now with you gone, I still catch myself sometimes: Uttering your name after a joke you would like, And calling those I call dear your name. I don’t know if I am doing it on accident. My body still reaches out for your hand in my bed, As my mind forgets what your face looks like.
"You haven't yet met all the people you will love"