On yet another birthday without you

 Fer,

Tomorrow is my birthday. 

The day of the year you made such a big deal of. 

The day you'd wake me up with such joy and say that it was the best day ever, because it was my day 

I have been hurting again with your absence

This apartment feels too big and ominous 

Our dog doesn't jump like he used to jump on you anymore 

Sometimes I get scared because I don't want to forget the sound of your laughter

Sometimes I cry because I can't hold you in my sleep, or ask you to turn off the lights 

Sometimes I cry because you can't tuck me in at night anymore

Sometimes I just cry. 

Everyday I wish for one more chance. I wish you were here. I wish I could hear your voice. I wish you could magically come back, like you never left.

But you never will. You wouldn't even recognize me anymore.

I'm turning 27 and you haven't been here for three years. Before I turn 28, I will have to remove your bones from the dirt and cremate them. Every physical evidence of your existence will be gone.

Yet, I am a walking wound that once more bleeds and aches for you. How can I move forward with a happy life, if I am doomed to a life without you?

You were my greatest love. 

You were my greatest sorrow. 

And you were my everything. 

Another birthday will go by reminding me that I can't have the one thing I desperately long for: our life back. 

I love you. In this life and every other to come. 

I'm turning 27 and I still love you. So much that it keeps you alive even when it hurts. And that's the only way I could keep going.