I can't speak her name,
Because if I try, my whole life collapses,

I can't think of her,
Because if I do, my mind rushes to think of "that day,"

I can't hear her voice,
Because if I try, I hear a mixture of different voices.

I can't smell her,
Because if I do, I only smell death-
-like the last sniff I took when I stood beside her bed.

I can only remember,
When I was a kid.
When I would lay next to her in bed and she would drag me out with her cold hands telling me I'm going to be late for school.

When I was 5 and went to work with her,
When I tripped over a wire and landed on a nail.
When she desperately helped me up, crying because I was in pain.

When the last memory I have is her kissing me goodnight,
When she told me, she loved me the night before she died.

When she took her last breath.