what to make of me.

when he died, i don't think i remember breathing. i don't think i remember much when you take it all into consideration.

i can't help but wonder how he looks at me now. i can't help but shake and fall from where he put me when he spoke. i end up in the same place and with these same hands. i hope he knows that i was saying thank you every time i looked at him.

and as these goddamn tears run down my face for the countless time, i'm feeling around in the dark for him. with a recycled heart and not much will to stand, i'm groping for what's just out of reach because i'm still not sure i want to stay.