My impending breakdown

Sometimes I daydream old memories and imagine he was there. Next to me, his hand in mine. Through the worst and the best. Building a life together. Believing everything would be okay, and maybe it would have been. If he’d been there.

But he wasn’t, and he isn’t. And he never really can be. Like ice cubes or snow or anything that can melt or fade away.

And I'd write of this, the pain I feel, if only I could move my hand. But I’m so tired with the weight of it all. So tired with being unable to say what I need to say.

So instead, I’ll just memorize it. Learn it inside and out like a foreign language. As if my words were sparkles of color in his eyes. Commit it all to paper at a later date. To be filed away and lost with the rest of my drivel. To be found again, when I've forgotten what it was like.