six years has done little to calm the constant aching in my heart; mourning is a fickle thing, given time, i've come to learn

that ache whenever i hear your favorite songs, or when my eyes flicker to the wrinkled photo i have of you on my car dashboard, engraved with a necklace of jade and a smile forever kind

seventy-two months has taught me that grieving is best done in private under my checkered covers and the pink blanket you gave to me when i was two, my face buried in my pillow

two thousand, one hundred ninety days has allowed me to better understand how to cope with the lingering hollowness that visits me from time to time when i shuffle past your old bedroom door at two in the morning, when i can’t sleep

fifty-two thousand, five hundred and sixty hours gifted me with the fragile courage to carry the burden of knowing i can’t hear your voice again when i need it the most

i'm missing you now more than ever, you know.