i used to say your name
as though it was something precious,
something fragile,
something living.
a heart still beating,
a flame still burning.
but now,
i have come to an acceptance.
an understanding.
that i am like a widow
who cannot accept that her husband
is gone.
a woman who clings to his cold body
as though he’s still in there.
as though he may wake up
his heart still warm and beating
his eyes still sharp and bright.
but just as sure as his body
remains lifeless and limp,
your love will never return.
you are gone,
but i’m still waiting.