As I lay here after trying to remove you from my world, block you from my head, I can feel nothing. Nothing, but a giant black chasm of despair and emptiness lies between bitterness and betterment and there is no way for me to cross. No bridge can be built long enough to span this terrible gap.
There is nothing worth feeling on both sides, and no bottom to land upon if I were to fall, or jump. There's a storm overhead, and I have no desire to run for cover; the rain is not rain, it is needles, and it is you, and I cannot escape. I will not escape. I have no will to escape. I will let your memory stab me a thousand times, a million times before I will even attempt to turn and run. I will bleed to death before I have the desire to abandon you memory, or to live with out you.
I will sit and wait and try to block out all the tender memories and all the terrible ways you saved me and I will hurt. When someone says your name, I will absorb the blow, I have absorbed larger blows, and when someone points out something about you and all the little things you did, or the day of your birthday I will absorb those too and never let them now how much it absolutely tears me apart.
And I will watch the leaves on the trees slowly fade and die, and they will be the death of anything I felt inside, and I will watch the snowflakes fall and know that each individual one is like one of your breaths, cold and distant and vanishing upon discovery. I will relish the cold, and the white and the silence, as another year passes empty. Another birthday come and gone, and suddenly, I feel old.