Trance

Something I wrote awhile back.

Every morning marks another day I grieve over your passing.The bright shining sun beams at me, as if to assure me that it'll be a better day. Somehow though, all I get is a shiver down my spine.

The vivid vision if your death will forever be etched in my mind,replaying itself, over and over again, like a damaged tape.

Yeah, damaged, just like my soul. Scarred beyond recognition,like a heart set alight, and as I burn inside, people around me resume their everyday activities, like I wasn't even there. But then again, why should they. Who am I that they should grieve with me. After all, you didn't mean half to them like you did to me. Every fibre of my body tells me to pick myself up and move on, but whenever I see a picture of you and me,the floodgates open once again, and I'm left drowning in my own tears.

As I drag my feet to the kitchen in a desperate attempt to nourish myself, I catch a whiff of our neighbor's trademark bacon and eggs. I remember you telling me that you could cook better than that, and then proceeding to prove yourself right, like you always do. The kitchen isn't helping at all,nor is any other part of the house.. our house. Even when I read the papers, I can hear you reading parts of it aloud.

My day ended right when it began. I wake up trying to pick up the pieces, only to return with the dread that there're more lying around. The only thing I could think of was the day I stood in front of the mangled remains of a car with my heart in my mouth. It had to be a joke, I just knew it. You would come out from behind a nearby tree calling my name. The person behind the wheel wasn't you. The blood that stained your beautiful white blouse wasn't yours. The doctor who called for me upon emerging from the operating theatre wasn't real. You should've been here, sleeping soundly while I held you in my arms.

Even today, my eyes see but my mind refuses to register. But somewhere in my unconvinced heart, I feel a faint tug, suggesting that I'll never be able to touch your silky soft skin for as long as I live. But the notion of suicide never crossed my mind. For if I die, I might never see your face again.At the very least, I can smell your favorite perfume, look through our photos, and watch our favorite shows. Sometimes, I can feel that special warmth only you are capable of giving, and sometimes, I can't feel anything at all,just the morning breeze caressing my face. It's like you're drifting in and out, making sure I'm okay.

I guess you'll never be able to hear these words that depart my lips, as much as I want you to.

I miss you.