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Rose Hesketh, 06 Feb '13

These Things Will Never Be Okay.

How can it be that as I sit here, you're not beside me?
That when I wake up from a restless sleep, there is only the cold side of the bed, untouched, your ghost refusing to crease the sheets.
I look for you wherever I go, seeking you out, searching desperately through the crowd. But you are not there. You are not anywhere. You are gone.
These are the things that I cannot understand.

I spend these days now haunted by those that have passed, those to which I can never run back to, no matter how hard I try. Walking around without aim nor destination, my hand reaches for that that is no longer there. An empty hand. A hollow chest. These are the remnants you scattered behind.

Come back to me. Don't leave me. Take me back and I'll fix anything, everything to make these things right. These are the words that I silently scream in the middle of the night, when no one but you can here them. I sleep, but sleep is no gift. Not when I dream of your arms around mine and when you are real, and there, and here. With me.
Not when I wake again to that cold, cold side of the bed, alone.
No, sleep is no gift.

These are the things that make up my days now.
These are the things that I cannot change.
These are the things I would give anything to be free of.

These are the things that will never be okay.