There are days, weeks even that I swear I am okay. All is okay until I hear a laugh that sounds vaguely like yours or see a sweater in a store that you would have adored. Everything collapses in those moments. I feel my stomach drop onto the pavement or the sterilized linoleum. Each of my muscles weaken, separately but simultaneously. I forget how to speak and I can’t think of anything but old memories of you playing in my head on repeat. Those memories have long since began to fade and all I have are the old photographs and the old Facebook video of you calling the dogs in the snow. I can’t even remember what your voice sounds like.
I know I’ll never be able to hear your laugh again or your groggy morning voice. I know I’ll never see your reaction to Olly Murs or Elvis Costello coming on the radio again or smell your bath wash mixed with your favorite sweater when you hugged me. I know I will never feel your arms wrapped tightly around me or your finger laced in mine. I know I will never get to ask you another question or here your words of wisdom I desperately need.
I try not to think about this but each time little pieces of you wander back into my life, I can’t help but break all over again.
Porcelain Prose 