DanielDresden

That loss no longer stings in a way that provokes regret, anger, or sadness. It's a dull and empty feeling — a realization that almost makes you nauseous. It's like a phantom limb — you remember what was. But it's not there anymore. Yet everything's fine, so what are you still hurting about? No — pain doesn't pass through. It just ebbs and flows, and eventually the ebbs get longer and the flow becomes more narrow.

Dead grass swaying under a dark Nebraska sky — I can almost hear the memory of your laughter as it fades into a sigh. That guilt is still unfinished. The bed remains unmade. And I suppress my every aching impulse to reach and call out your name. I leave the door unlocked, somewhere behind — hoping your ghost will open it one day, and you'll stay, forever mine.