There is this unraveling. This sand that won't stop falling from my hands.
I thought that the second year after you left would be easier. It was not.
Instead, the silence that took your place in my life became deafening.
The lingering memories faded, and all that was left was silence. Loud, hurting silence.
I try and recall your face, your words, your embrace, but they fail me.
The memories won't come back.
You won't come back.
My solace, my quiet in the silence, is your life.
That you ever lived, and lived loudly and extravagantly-
this is the small, warm fire in a great, cold room.
I'm beginning to forget you.
I only hold on to some memories a little while longer.
And the sound of your voice, like you, is already gone.