Mar 6, 2025
When the missing becomes an ache it leaks into tears. The salt burns into the cracks you left behind and it hurts. *it hurts.*
I can’t help but wonder when the cracks will be worn smooth by the tears and your loss becomes as much a part of me as before you left. When it won’t feel so raw.
Your bones are rooted in the ground and your breath is gone and I want to hold you in my arms and carry you in my pocket close to my heart again. I miss being able to hold your whole hand in my palm, listening to you sniffle and sneeze.
My arms were empty before you but now that they’re empty again the loss is all the more gaping because of it.