The nagging.
The painful yearning.
The want.
The lack of understanding.
If only it were as easy as a regimented grief process. With time limits and instructions.
A boot camp.
With someone standing by, encouraging you.
Guiding the very foggy way.
No, it's not like that at all.
Nothing like that at all.
It is not death that haunts me.
Death I can do.
Death is life, life is death.
It simply and complexly is.
It is the gaping hole in me.
The wound that will not heal.
The one thing that made me feel whole.
The one I try to stitch closed.
To keep from the world.
It will not heal.
I do not know how to put you in your rightful place.
The guilt.
The anger.
The hurt.
I do not know where you belong, or how to be rid of you.
I am holding on but I want to shift this feeling.
Spoken like a simple fact.
It is not simple at all.
It is deeply rooted.
Woven and intertwined.
It is malignant.
*hug* ... seems like no where near enough, but I really want to give you one xxx Jo
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