two months

I feel so incomplete without you here. There’s a hollowness in my gut and a black hole in my chest. My brain still feels like it’s on a spin cycle and my heart – it’s completely broken and grey.

Two months ago you left this place. Only two months. It feels like a lifetime, and it feels like yesterday. It’s still so strange to live without you here. Will it always be this strange? I know I have no choice but to live without you. I know you’re not coming back, but I can’t really call this living, my love. Why is everything so fucked up?

I still feel like I’m waiting for you. The climax hasn’t happened. The ultimate joy I was anticipating from the moment you walked into the baggage claim after departing that plane you promised me you would get on has yet to occur. So many things didn’t happen babe. And I’m left here still wanting. I’m lost in a disappointment so heavy I feel frozen and incapacitated – stuck in a never-ending angst of expectation. I can hardly find the will to acknowledge you’re never coming home. But you’re not and I’m crippled knowing I will never see you again. I can’t breathe. My lip quivers and my eyes well up every time I think of that day two months ago and how our dreams disintegrated in a heartbeat. I can’t help it. You died so horribly. You died alone. You broke your body so badly it became unlivable. That kills me honey. It slays me to my aching being to think that you could have been in such excruciating pain and no one was there to hold your hand as you left.

I know we talked about it in San Diego. You told me you’d want me to go on and to be happy and to not cry. You said you wanted a party and an ash dive. That was all. I hope you understand, if you can do that where ever you are now. But I told you then that I would cry. I told you then that it would shatter me. And I told you then that I wouldn’t be able to go on for some time. You thought it was ridiculous, but as long as I moved on at some point – that you didn’t want my life to be ruined because you left before me. Oh Dave. I never thought you would die so soon – less than a month after we had that conversation. I still cry. I’m crying now. Did we both have some idea about the future? I’m so pissed at you for staying that extra week – for dying the day after you could have been on a plane and coming home. I can’t even say that you passed on. To me, you died, you left. Dave, nothing is the same.

I see visions of you constantly, like a whirlwind plays in slow-motion in my brain and a million images of you circle endlessly, some lingering for moments so I can feel you again. Certain pictures come back to me frequently. Certain sensations replay tortuously and I cry. There are hundreds, but some keep repeating. When you grabbed my hand and led me to the army-side toilets. I know it’s gay, but you walked me to the bathroom. You insisted. You held the door for me. You looked for spiders. I’d never had that before. Such small little things. But when you grabbed my hand – your grip so firm, your shoulder pressed so tight against mine, holding me close like my grand protector. I feel that. I feel that and I cry. I could feel how much  you loved me just with that hand. Or when you’d lie beside me and we’d intertwine our legs, filling every gap between our bodies, your arm pulling me in close to your chest. Your head would rest up against my head and you would breathe – we would both breathe – like there was finally peace in the world, like everything was as it should be. I try to sleep and feel you there. It doesn’t help because you’re not there, and I cry. I’m not at peace anymore, my love. This world doesn’t feel right without you.

We had too short a time. It was so short and yet so epic. We both knew. And yet you are gone and I’m still here. I keep experiencing and doing things that we were to do together. It guts me. All these firsts. All these ordinary things that I must do without you. I want to tell you about them, like you just happen to be busy, like you’re at home and couldn’t do them with me. And then I cry. You’re not at home – only your ashes are, for now.

The world looks so much the same darling. So much the same and yet it feels so different in nearly every way. I’m aware of your absence in my every day. I miss you with my entire being. I ache and long and pine for you. You were my counterpart. We were so relieved when we found each other, when we accepted what we were to each other, when we gave in to the love that sabotaged our existing paths. We were so happy that the world finally made just a bit of sense and contained just a bit of peace. The yin and yang. And then that day. That very dark day. I have grown to despise that day.

I miss you Dave. I’m still in the fog without you. I still don’t know where reality is any more. You somehow became my anchor to it, but without you, reality just doesn’t make sense. I know I have to go on. I’m trying to figure it out, but it’s not what I want. And I know I can’t have that life with you anymore, but to have any kind of life now seems like I’m settling for second best. Me? Settle? It’s fucked up. But I am learning to keep you in my heart. I’m learning to embrace the images that pop into my head, the words that echo on by and the sensations that ripple through me. With you in my heart I might stand a chance at surviving this life. But Dave, I really really wish it was all another way. I wish you never left. I wish you were by my side and I never had to write any of this. I really wish you made it on that plane.


About humanbeen

I'm a has-been that was. I'm a dreamer that does.
This entry was posted in coping, crying, death, grief, heartbreak, loss, love, starting over and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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