An empty chair. An unfinished book. A plate of food left half eaten. Everywhere I go, these half finished things remind me of you. Remind me of the life that was swiped from underneath you. Like the knife cutting the air, you were cut out of my life, just like that.

My head is full of clouds, dark, black rainclouds that rain all day long, blocking every other thought except you. You’re gone, but I don’t want to believe it. Who’s going to help with when I struggle to get out of bed, or when I need help with tea or when I just need a good hug. You gave the best hugs, but I’ll never have one again and that hurts, it really hurts. The pain and grief makes me want to rip my heart out to stop the internal screaming that goes on and on and on.

An empty chair. An unfinished book. A guitar left ready to be played. Everything reminds me of you.