these things we know, we say again.

these are things we've learned over the past year...

but i will continue to breathe and beat and stretch.

but i will continue to love and hate and dream.

but i will continue to long and avoid and yearn.

and baby, with such sorry and open eyes, i miss you so. and i miss you doing these things with me, next to me, before me.

this is a small preamble, a distraction to the epic of your life.

as i take these days into my hands and work them with my unwilling fingers, as this week slowly turns the knife permanently driven through my ribs, as the moments climb on top of me to strangle the feeble hope i've gathered ... as i reacquaint myself with now and realize that it's this loss i've been making everything, i am not ashamed to find myself holding this torch with your name on it. i will show it to every man. each friend i discover will read the inscription. and my future selves will look back on the flame with such warmth that they may collapse.

at least i am honest. and true. and open.

you always said that i was good at making things look like new.

your ending destroyed me. and so, dearest, where do we go from here?