It has been 12 days since you left me.
You warned me there was only one person you would ever leave me for, and then they came.
I fought to keep you.
I fought for who we were together.
I fought for the plans we made and the places we had yet to see.
I wrestled you away from them until the cavalry arrived.
And then the cavalry whisked you away.
I begged the one person you said you’d leave me for not to take you. But in the end, I followed you.
I followed the cavalry.
I came home with nothing more than a stretchy ribbon I wear on my wrist and the knowledge that I would never feel your hand in mine again.
That I would never feel your lips pressing on my shoulder or your gentle kiss on my lips.
That my head would never rest on the smooth skin of your chest, feeling the rise and fall of your lungs under my cheek or hearing the beat of your heart in my ears.
You left me.
I am adrift.
I keep thinking that any minute you’ll walk in and start telling me one of your corny jokes.
I keep thinking I will wake to you lying beside me in bed, that I will smell the simple, clean fragrance that was you.
I love you.
I want to hold you in my arms, go on walks with you, laugh with you, and sit on the front porch to grow old together.
I am numb.
I never thought this day would come so soon.
But I knew if that one came, you would leave me.
I will never be the same.
The me I was before you is gone.
The me I was with you is no longer needed.
And I do not know who the me to come will be.
But I know this:
I will be wiser because of you.
I will be kinder.
I will be more patient.
I will be softer.
I will be gentler.
I will be more humble.
I will be good.
I will be generous and loving because of who you taught me to be.
I will forever carry you in my heart.
I want to hear your crazy belly laugh.
I want to watch you savor a meal.
I want to see you show me our secret sign again.
I want to see the expression of love on your face when you tilt your head and whisper, “My God, you are beautiful.”
I want to hold your hand.
