Losing you

I used to think I couldn’t go a day without your smile; without telling you things and hearing your voice back.

Then that day arrived and it was so damn hard but the next was harder. I knew with a sinking feeling it was going to get worse, and I wasn’t going to be okay for a very long time.

Because losing someone isn’t an occasion or an event. It doesn’t just happen once. It happens over and over again. I lose you every time I see buttload of our pics in my phone; whenever our song plays on my Spotify; or when I discover our old tickets and bills in the corners of my sling-bags.

I lose you every time I think of kissing you, holding you, or wanting you. I go to bed at night and lose you, when I wish I could tell you about my day. And in the morning when I wake up and reach for the empty space across the sheets, I begin to lose you all over again.