Not Too Particular, Not Too Precise

The worst part of losing someone is not the goodbye. It’s learning to live without them. It’s crying yourself to sleep because the pillow next to you is cold and empty. It’s getting up in the morning with tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes. It’s the lifeless phone you have in your pocket which doesn’t ping with a new message from him anymore. It’s your shaking hands when you put all the things he bought you in a box, including that stuffed bear he let you keep even though he wanted it after he won it at the country fair last year. It’s you holding your breath and shutting your eyes closed when you think you smelled your favorite perfume of his walking down the crowded street because that particular smell could have you breaking down all over again. It’s no more midnight ice cream trips just because you both wanted it suddenly. It’s no one whining for cuddles when you need to finish important work. It’s the silence echoing in the house because no watches the football reruns on full volume anymore. It’s you skipping that one song you still cannot bare to hear because he sang it to you for your birthday at 3am on the roof. It’s you not being able to gather to courage to get your long brown hair chopped short because he always said he liked them long. It’s the cold oven in the kitchen because you don’t have anyone to bake cupcakes for anymore. It’s no one to slow dancing to rock songs just because you both felt like it. It’s you crying with your heart heavy when you’re removing pictures of you both, on various occasions, from the frames around the house. It’s no more midnight stories, no arms around you when you cry, no one to kiss you awake, no more surprise Chinese take outs, no more water fights. It’s no one to hug you, kiss you on the forehead and tell you it’s gonna be okay.