“She’s dead, isn’t she?”
No response.
I just stared out the window
looking at nothing.
Seeing nothing.
Feeling
nothing.
I remember thinking
that I would never recover
from this.
Never move on.
But that’s never a choice.
The world moves on.
If you’re still alive,
you move on too.
I still stare out windows
and still see nothing.
But I can feel her breath
running a shiver on my neck
and I feel sad.
Is there a greater tragedy
than broken hearts that heal?
We move on.
We mend.
We remember.
And learn.
And forget.
I forgot why I started writing
this.
What’s the point?
