This numbness is unbearable.

I walk around in your sweatpants; I like to borrow your favorite sweats. Your ritual Hawkeye pumpkin is on my cell phone wallpaper; you will carve it once again this year. Jackie Moon is my costume; you will laugh when you see it. I turn to your favorite shows, this way I will get to hear that laugh. I put your tunes on the list, just waiting for you to belt out the melodies. We are on my computer monitor; your smiling face looks into my eyes everyday. I venture to the kitchen in the AM; we need to satisfy that midnight craving. I sleep with your beloved sweatshirt; nuzzled to the cotton, I await for it to smell like you. I sleep in late, I don't want to wake you. That other pillow is cemented next to mine; your shoulder is still the softest pillow I know. I rest these eyes; your lips will graze mine through the air I breathe.

We'll Always Have that Island

A million shadows have cast upon me,
pacing back and forth in the dark,
I keep following those sea blue eyes.

I need that rough hand to calm these nerves,
brushing each drop off of my cheek,
you cool the blush like waves upon sand.

I feel the ambiance from that shelf,
intertwined love bellows happy times
in which I was in your arms underneath that smile.

Yearning for the scent from your t-shirt,
my hands on the muscle of your back,
yours around my waist in anticipation to lift me.

If only I could gaze at your face,
slow down time with a silent stare,
I would not rush you away.

If only I could have kept you in my arms,
a safe place you once spoke of,
we would be happy like we once were
on that island we kept hidden away.

This sickness

Last night my bones were cracking and I couldn't stop moaning. I tried to rest, closed my eyelids, and there were your eyes engraved in the darkness. A tear rolled down my cheek and I couldn't stop wishing you were here.

You are still here while I am sick.

You are getting up every five minutes from the bed to get something out of the kitchen. You are instructing me to drink OJ. You are making toast. You rent movies. You throw up the covers to adjust it perfectly on me. You give me a back massage and tell me to relax. You curl up beside me to rub your hand on my belly, a treasure you always gave me when I was feeling ill.

Going round and round the ring. With pressure you go one way, spreading heat with your palm. Going the other way, your trimmed nails graze across my peach fuzz. You tease me in going lower, and we giggle. Your fingers reach the bra wire and back down to my belly button. Round and round, up and down, those strong, thick, yet short fingers give my illness comfort. After a while you ask if its better, I nod with satisfaction and you give my belly a kiss.

For a man who allotted himself 2 Tylenol per year and gallons of orange juice with no doctor visits, he knew exactly what to do to make me feel better.

I rest with your hoodie

His smile is my guardian through the night. I look over at that vast pillow, picture his resting head, and just wish some more. Why couldn't he stay? Why couldn't he stay in my arms? I would have lifted the world above his shoulders if I could. But I couldn't.

I just want to stare at his smiling face. I want to study every curve. I want to be there again, there in that bed stroking his freshly shaved head while he slept in a strange slumber.

I remember how you weren't there, how you were a shell. I remember sitting there, rubbing your temple while you opened your eyes briefly every so often. Without any words, you let me sit there and rest with you without question.

I remember the tears, but I don't want to. The last time I saw you, I studied the side of your face. I remember telling you to look at me. I remember those glistened eyes. And I hurt. I remember that vein in your head, while you spoke. I remember holding onto your shoulder, resting my lips onto your shirt like I knew it was the last time. I remember the bow, and a "Good luck." You then turned around and walked away.

"I love you Kristin, I always will," you later said. I will always remember those words, I will always remember that quote you gave me. "There was this woman," you repeated, "There was this woman, there was this man," and you were gone.

Blue

My zombie body is beginning to tare,
just a shell walking around,
I wonder if anybody is noticing
my empty stare.

My smile is a rare occasion,
contrary to my past,
my lips sink to the floor
without any realization.

My eyes radiate redness,
diminishing at the creases,
my pupils are drowning
yet remain restless.

My shoulders have no muscle,
hunched over without power,
my stance is traveling
like a lost vessel.

My mind is crowded with thoughts,
overwhelmed beyond belief,
my actions are consistently drunk,
while having no room in my mind
to realize that I have sunk.

Loving Music More

I loved the music coming through those earbuds we shared.
Touching head to head,
laying in the back of that noisy Explorer;
time was calm.

I loved the music you sang to me, your only audience.
belting it out in the car,
moving your lips while we danced;
I was giddy happy.

I loved the blaring music in the shower.
Swinging those hips,
showing me your dance moves;
you were full of surprises.

I loved the music we teamed up in research.
Exchanging titles back and forth,
playing each tune on repeat;
two music minds.

I loved the music we fell asleep to.
Listening through the night,
blocking that blue speaker light;
the night was peaceful.

I love those cds with your handwriting,
I love those cds from your playlists,
I love that ticket stub to your first concert,
I love those bands I acquired from you,
I love music after you.

My senses aren't enough

That fan is chipping away at my heart. It sits there conducting its purpose, but it has no knowledge of its capability. It has successfully brought fire to my cheeks and puddles to my pillow case. The simple hush, lullaby sound and the cool breeze sends me backwards into those nights with your breath, in, and out. Those eyes shut and calm, putting up bricks against the storm. You lay there so peacefully, like sleep is pure joy. That fan sat there, oblivious to its helping hand. For a man who secretly boiled beneath the skin, the cool brush of air, pushing back every strand, made his soul into swift, rocking waves. Back and forth, back and forth, he slept. And now that fan attempts to cool my restless sleep. Brushing away the bangs, hushing the creeks of the house, but never getting close to the calmness of your presence.