It's so rare to find someone to care about who also cares about you, and when you lose them it feels like losing your breath. You fight with every inch of your screaming body to stay above the surface, and the worst part is it doesn't get easier.
I never understood how people in general deal with death, how they talk about heaven and a chance to meet again. I never got the point with all those ceremonies and gatherings and I don't see how it could ever be possible to find any peace. My guess is they're all cheap excuses for denying the inevitable. Maybe it's just in the human nature to fantasize and dream up stories that comfort us when nothing seems to make any sense.
I turned to him, my first and only love, because I needed him. He had no clichés, no advices, just a warm and welcoming embrace. Amidst my never-ending tears I said why didn't I call her more often and he said she knew you loved her. Of course he didn't know anything about her, but he said the right things, the things I wanted to hear.
He made that harsh non-winter winter in cold, distant LA a little easier, and I think that's why we became swing sets in the park, porcelain hands and talk about butterflies that following spring.