I remember the day your soul separated itself from the earth side. I remember the shattering cold of your finger tips as death slowly closed in around you.

Three hundred and sixty five, plus two hundred and twenty eight.

So much of me was taken with you. I had all of these pieces of you, and you brought them with you to whatever purgatory proceeded you. You took my deepest secrets, and you kept them when you went.

Three hundred and sixty five, plus two hundred and twenty eight.

I spent our final days hoping for peace. Hoping to hold onto you as long as whatever higher power would let me. Praying for softness in the days you began to slip away.

Three hundred and sixty five, plus two hundred and twenty eight.

I picked up the phone and tried to call you today, but I guess a text will do. I constantly find myself hoping you miss me … too. I drove home in the silence, hoping my screams into the void would be heard by you.

Three hundred and sixty five, plus two hundred and twenty eight.

I can feel you overcrowding my atmosphere. Your energy heavy, like god placed weight on my shoulders that maybe I wasn’t quite ready to carry.

Three hundred and sixty five, plus two hundred and twenty eight.