Weeks pass and I’m still here.

Stuck in this box of grief, unable to pull myself out.

Death had consumed my dearest.

Now I’m being punished.

Punished by love, even after it has crossed the line.

I find myself in front of your name.

Engraved in piece of thick rock.

Something tells me I can hold your hand, just once more.

I reach into the moistened dirt, and then it happens.

You reach back and pull me under with you, a deathbed for two.