somewhere, i heard that there's two days in your life
where you don't get to live twenty four hours, but isn't
that a little biased? what about the days where i had to
remind myself that you weren't coming back? because
i had recited a poem during grief and loss poetry, and
it was more loss of self and grief of self. maybe my body
is still connected to this earth, but my soul is dead. my
muse, or my idea of one, turned to ashes. every picture
of her was still life art, of things living, but that picture
of us is still dead even to this day. and on that note, i hope
you're happy now, you miserable *******.

- kra