A throbbing in my chest wakes me. My ribs are digging into my heart. I'm aching. Missing something.
I turn on the light. My eyes hurt.
The lamp is a tiny oasis in the middle of my darkened room. I stare at it until my vision's clear again. Then I roll over in bed. Nothing but a blank wall greets me. I stare at it.
I imagine he's lying beside me.
The others have been trying hard to make me feel better. To help me move on. But I don't want to move on. If I move on, I might forget. Forget every tiny moment we ever spent together. Every smile, every word, every movement he ever made...If I move on, I might not remember it.
I don't want to let go.
A piece of my soul was hollowed out when I first met him. And every single second we ever talked, or worked, or even just looked at each other, was one more milligram of love that hollow space was filled up with. The moment it overflowed would've been the moment I told him.
But I never got that chance. He was gone before the last few inches could be filled.
I'll walk around with a half full heart for the rest of my life. The stale liquid inside sloshing around.
I close my eyes. The lamp fizzes out.
My insides are hurting so much, I'm numb.
