Two years anniversary

I.
Pampers, it's been a while.
I still don't have the nerve to visit your grave or make you a gravestone, but I have started to realize when I wake up alone from the nightmares that nobody is coming to rescue me.
You left me alone and took my home away with you, love. You left me with these weird hospital memories, and how I called you Pampers when you needed to wear diapers and we laughed about it for so many days. I swear most days I'd change music for the sound of a heart monitor again.

II.
Two years and two days ago we were getting married. You were promising me a life you could never live. You were my favorite person and had the best goofy laugh anyone could possibly have. Everyday you saw me waking up or walking into the room, you'd say how happy you were just because I was there. We were so very in love. I accepted the terms as my gospel and religion. Our love for each other would change the world. It would change us both.
We can't say it didn't.


III.
Now I live in the Church Of Your Death
Whispers let me know I'm not healthy
And the puffs of smoke dance at me in sadness
The pictures on the wall tell the story of a different couple
A different ending
Two happy and complete lives
Do you remember feeling this happy?
This safe?
Do you remember what was like to call someone a home?
Do you remember how perfect this day was? How many smiles we shared?
Do you remember how unaware we were?
Of life and what was really important
Do you remember the days in which we didn't worry about time?


IV.
Ever since you left, I know no sound for home except the metal clanging, the nocturn silence of insomnia, the sound of split bone, the shriek of inevitable loneliness. I have no place to call home so I never rest. I hold nobody's heart and love, so I find no safe harbor. Every night, a different desperation.
Ever since you left, I am a priestess in your Death Church. I dance and sing and stay awake in the name of Grief, our great saint.
So tell me, which arms could hold me now that yours are too cold? How am I to hold myself together when my arms are but a frozen crib that never had a chance to sway to the rhythm of our baby's sleep?
How am I to love if love was not enough to make you stay?
And if you didn't, who even could?