You are so far away now.
6 years away.
A lifetime away.
A moment away.
But a moment that is memory rather than feeling.
I stare at your picture,
At pictures of you and I together,
And I look at all the pictures in the years since you left,
I almost wonder…
Which ones are real?
You and I, passionate together,
Or me, alone, passionate in a different way,
At a different level,
That passion that peaks when I speak of you, dream of you, write of you, live for you.
Alone, there is mostly just a vast emptiness
that reflects your absence.
How is it possible for your absence to feel as strongly binding as your presence once did?
In the beginning, in the horror filled new years of without you,
my mind took me to and from and back and forth and up and down and inside out,
As I strove to make sense of me walking this earth alone.
Now, in this just past 6th year,
I wonder no longer.
About any of it.
I may see you again. I may not. I am in pain. I am empty.
I miss you with a dull throbbing, even as I strive to live this life of color and travel trailers and open roads and new friends and fading memories and daily challenges.
Oh my dearest Love…
My dearest Love…
You are me and I am you and your Love is me and I am both of us and I…
I carry our story.
I carry us, now.
Oh, my dearest Love…