to you these are just shapes on a page, sounds in the air
but when i tell you "i loved him,"
i can him smiling in a thousand different places and when i say "that was a good day," i can feel the butterflies in my chest and my light heart and the sunshine on my face and when i say "it was nice to have someone," i can feel his hand on the small of my back and his soft voice asking "are you okay?"
i can say "i really ******* loved him," and maybe you can hear the pain in my voice but you'll never experience the agony of being naked in his bed and saying "you don't love me,"
you'll never know what it's like to **** yourself daily to try to hold on to something that isn't even there. yes i can show you a picture but you'll never know how beautiful he was to me

i can say that it hurts, that his absence ravages my insides, that meeting him was like drowning and finally being pulled to the surface, like living in darkness and someone finally turning on the light,
and maybe you can imagine what it is like, but i cannot make you feel my pain.

"How odd I can have all this inside me and to you it's just words."
-David Foster Wallace