sometimes, I think about the day I lost you.
it didn't come in waves, like I was accustomed to.
a single tsunami washed over me,
knocked me out, and I forgot how to breathe.
I was petrified because it was like you took me with you
and my body wasn't my home anymore.
a large part of me died with you that day.
they told me that that part would get smaller over time,
but I'm not so sure that's true. I had no say in the matter.
all I could do was lay on my cousin's couch
until the water drained from my lungs.