every year.
every year i stay up until 12:15
on April 7.
the time is burned in my memory
like branding,
etched into my essence
and i can't forget.
four years ago,
it was the moment he was gone.
the river of grief is still these days -
i don't think of his absence
nearly as much as i used to,
and i'm starting to get used to Christmas
without his voice.
i'm starting to get used to life
without his smile.
without his hugs.
without his laughter and his warmth.
but it's 12:15
on April 7
and i would give the world
to have him back.