No one every tells you how hard it is
                 Watching someone you love die                   slowly.

                            It’s worse
Than the quick knife to the heart when their death is sudden.

      A moment:grief. Then nothingness.

                    But the slow deaths,
They ache.
Like a growing cancer eating its way out
and we acknowledge that there is no cure.
         Just waiting. Watching. Agonizing.

This time will be it.    
   I’m ready. I’ve said my goodbyes.

                              No. Not yet.
                         One more month.


And while I wish I could rejoice in this extra time together. I can’t.

                    You’re in pain. I see it.
                                   I feel it.
You’re suffering                
And all I can do is watch.

I am what they call aggressively in love
my feelings punch me in the gut
             and beat me till I am blue.
I am what they call depressively  in love
it doesn’t make me happy to feel this much. What you call butterflies  
                   I feel as knives.
I’m anxious and I’m angry.
and I don’t want these feelings.

My father taught me that I love you does not always have to be expressed through words
Or gifts
   or grand gestures.
But that I love you Is shown by simply showing up.
By understanding,
And sometimes, making me understand.
Even when I don’t want to.

“I love you”
is him seeing that,
I am him,
Yet he chooses to better me.
To teach me,
To give me the strength I need
When words are not enough to make it through hard times.
My father does not say I love you a lot,
Because his father never told him.
So my father learned not say I love you
But to show it.

Today is one of those days
Where my body has to work twice as hard simply to make its way out of bed
  When the rain from the shower head feels as though thousands of small needles are tattooing my skin with invisible ink

Its not a bad day
Just a long day
             And it’s only 1pm

I was sitting on the subway
    Drunk
And in love
With somebody else.

Until I smelled your cologne on a stranger
And every good moment we had came rushing back.
Like a sickness, your doctors are sure you are cured of
But you are convinced you still have.

Hypochondriac.
That’s me,
With you.
You won’t leave,
Even when you have.

Even when it’s been years
and I have moved on
and I am happy now

But Jimmy Choo on anyone else
Makes me sick
With an illness
Lovesick and nauseous.

I’m drunk,
   and in love with someone else.
But this subway is another place
I will never go again without thinking of you.