My heart still aches for you,
Tho I know you’re gone.
I counted the days, you know.
The days since I dug your grave.
The days since I tried to scrub the dirt from beneath my fingernails—
Unable to see my hands through the tears.
I don’t count the days any more.
The months, yes,
But the wound has scabbed over.
Sometimes something gets caught. Like today.
The scab ripped away and it’s fresh again.
I...
