Broken Bella Donna

{October 9, 2011}   Death.

The hardest part about losing you, is night, when you are so close yet so impossibly far away.

I hate the first rain… I hate knowing that you’re getting wet. That I can’t take you, and dry you off, and cuddle you and make it all better. Christ, I even felt like clawing the soil to get you back, just to touch you one last time, and to take you somewhere more comfortable… it shatters me inside, even though I know it is part and parcel of life and death, returning to the soil… I could handle it so much better knowing you were dry. And comfortable, I suppose, or as comfortable as death can be. Then again, I think we are where we are now because death WAS the more comfortable option.

I want to take you back and kiss it better and apologise… all the apologies… always feeling sorry. That it wasn’t enough or wasn’t better or…

I stand by your grave and wish you good night, as I would have had you been with me, by my side where you belonged. Then I move into the dark shadows where no one can see my tears, and look up to the black sky, pick out a star and do it again… I don’t know what exactly I believe in, but for now, this makes me feel better.

I haven’t cried today.

I miss you. I love you still. Life is lonelier without you in it, but I know you’re better off where you are now. For some reason this doesn’t hurt like I thought it would, but it still hurts.



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