Impossible

I thought I didn’t love you.

And it wasn’t until you died, I realized.

I realized how much I love you, how badly I need you.

When I heard the news, it was as if my heart was torn out of its roots.

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You were there, hands bloodied, with my dying heart in your palm.

You just stood there, emotionless, empty, dead.

You weren’t you, and I couldn’t feel your electric soul.

But I could feel my heart slowly giving out.

I remember your funeral.

It plays in my head every night before bed.

I kissed you one last time, but you didn’t taste like your usual cigarettes.

The smell of rain in the air, the low chatter of everyone talking, yet still silent.

I didn’t cry that day; I was empty without you, without my heart.

There was a plot for you, and right next to it laid my heart.

Instead of beating with life, it just sat there. 

Gray, lifeless, torpid, dead.

I wanted to cry; I wanted to bring you back, I wanted you.

I need you. I need you here with me alive.

For you to rise out of the muddy ground with my beating heart in tow.

But you can’t, and neither can my dead heart; it’s simply impossible.