One hour after: her lipstick still lives on my cheek, a stain that has somehow managed to find its way to my heart
One hour before: she is still laughing at my jokes but her smile never reaches her eyes
One day after: I've tried calling and calling and calling, her voice mail taunts me but I never seem to get through
One day before: she says she's just tired, only tired, there's nothing wrong at all, but she doesn't wrap her arms around me as she sleeps
One week after: I've been lying in my bed unable to function because most of the time your laughter was the only thing that kept me going
One week before: we visited the carnival and you gripped my arm as hard as you could on the Ferris wheel, screaming about how you hated heights and hated me for bringing you up here. I should've known then
One month after: I've been told that heartache shouldn't last this long, that there's plenty of fish in the sea, to go out and find someone new, but they don't realize that nobody could replace you
One month before: we lay tangled in your bedsheets, warm bodies touching and moving together, laughing, singing, full of joy, full of life
One year after: I've met someone else, she has your same hair and same long legs but not the same laugh, not the same smile, and somehow I'm okay with that