Not You.

I no longer know how to stuff this emptiness inside so that it feels slightly filled.

That blonde. She was beautiful. She laughed often enough. She kissed hard enough. She moaned loud enough.
…but she wasn’t you.

The neighbour’s daughter? sure, she was fun.
She was intellectual. She had brains and beauty.
And she really had some skill.
…but she wasn’t you.

I wander among the pool of people, searching …
A distraction. an improvement. a breakthrough.
but they….aren’t….you.

i know, I know. It’s just nine more months.
nine months and no more separation.
nine months and we’ll be able to build a life and a home and everything we’ve ever spoken about.
I know these things – but I still cry.

I cry because with every day without you, I fall a bit deeper into my heartache.
Every day without you, feels like a little bit like hell.

Nine months, three weeks and twelve days.
And all this – all of it – will melt away.
but until then ….

I’ll try be me. You be you.
With a little distraction and a little less tears.


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