He got lost out there somewhere, my best friend,
the one I could talk to day or night,
sharing all my secret fears and dreams.
He wasn’t perfect by any means, but of course, neither was I.
We didn’t agree on every little thing, except where it mattered.
I’m pretty sure we valued the same important things.
We were friends and colleagues, and in time, lovers and partners in life.
But our friendship came first, and that’s what I thought would last
even after the marriage had died.
The silence is so loud sometimes I can’t hear myself think.
It drowns out all my positive mantras and even the sound
of the voices in my head (and on my phone) telling me to let it go.
I want to talk to him about my dad, about writing, even the car.
I want to know about his work and tell him about mine.
I wondered how his heart was feeling, but now I know.
Of course there are others to write to and talk with.
They haven’t given up on me and I feel very blessed.
I would have gone mad without them.
I understand we have new boundaries.
I know that we must let time pass
to allow wounds to heal and hearts to mend.
My intellectual self understands all these things.
And I think my heart would listen to my head
if it didn’t feel so abandoned, rejected, and ignored.
I’ve made one last, and hopeful, final attempt for closure.
I can’t keep doing this to myself, or him.
Trouble is I don’t know how long to hold my breath.
I didn’t just lose my spouse during this never-ending
disaster that we call 2020;
I lost my most trusted friend and that’s who I miss today.