I hate that you affected the way I talk
Some of my words serve as reminders of you
I want my voice back
My heart was not returned to me
In the same condition that I gave it to you in
I pray it isn't worse for wear but
I realize that it is much too ragged now
To be worn on my sleeve
And my voice...
It is torn at seams that were once twice stitched
It buckles and sags and wrinkles in places where
It did not falter before
My hands have newer lines
Creases left from holding on so tightly
Gripping you instead of pens because
Loving you was writing
Loving you was righting the wrongs
Laid beneath your feet like concrete paths
My attempts to alter your destiny
Only made me question mine.
Surely, loving will be the death of me
Because my body has a finite supply of blood
And my heart pumped most of it through your veins
In an effort to revive you
And I waited
And third day passed, fourth appeared, and you had not resurrected
I suppose you
Carried my love with you into your next life
A life that did not include me.
I've gone through myself and discovered
That there are pieces of me missing
And I have to somehow patch those holes.
When you decided to leave me behind
I wish you had left all of me.