PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

8 years ago marks the worst day of my life, and it's almost weird to think of it. to still feel like the floor is pulled out from under me and i’m back in that moment when it happened. the numbness that settled in and the inability to process reality. i don’t want to dwell on those memories so i imagine happier times. sitting behind the wheel and picturing you there next to me, cracking jokes to make light of a tense moment. and it works. i hate that it works. that i can feel the harsh sting of truth return that reminds me that it’s a fantasy and the relief i felt is fleeting. i want to hold onto it and i try; clinging to a memory without crying is personal growth. there’s nothing below or around me but that emptiness isn’t hollow. familiarity is a comfort all in itself and when i look around i can almost believe you’re still here. that no matter how much time has passed: 2 years, 5, 8, or 10, one day you’ll come home.