When it comes

There is going to be a last day, moment, and word, regardless of how much I don't want that to be so.

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But it is not the end that I will remember.

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I will panic, forget to breath, and get caught up in the sick cruelty of the situation.

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I will laugh about the endless phone calls, and the fact that I despised that devise more than most.

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The self-hatred for not remembering every word that left your lips will punish me.

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Happiness for having known you will engulf me when the thought of dropping off the grid takes hold.

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When asked what is on my mind, I will internally lash out that it is the emptiness.

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People notice that I changed because of you--without being asked--and became a better person.

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The things I did not say will loop repeatedly until the day I die.

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You were the “beautiful girl”, the one by which all others will be measured.

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For the briefest of moments you were my muse, and the written word will be lost without you.

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The markers in my life will be before and after, to my detriment.

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The laughs, fights, and silence were painful, but worth it.
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There is going to be a last day, moment, and word . . . and this just is.