I’ll Love You From A Distance

I’ll always love you, but I have to love you from a distance. I saw a photo of you today and realized that the persistent image of your suffering has taken over my memories of your smile. My mind has been fogged up by the grief-stricken moment from when I saw you undergo the aching acceptance of your last breath. 

I’ve sat through multiple morning news, motion pictures, and work hours, noticing that I drag myself away from my present into the absent mindfulness of daydreams about you. I look out at night to persuade myself that you’re the biggest star looking right back at me, and if I’m being honest, I can’t find comfort anymore because I miss you too much. 

I don’t know if I can ever accept and love the way you loved me. I can’t give anyone my everything when you hold some part of me that I’ll never seem to get back because you’re gone. Each day that goes by, I convince myself that I’m feeling a little more like myself, but then find myself feeling sorrowful by the end of the day because I ponder over our core memories each night.

You’d never hurt me, yet this hurts. You want me to live in a world where I don’t feel like a drowning being and live out the same amount of days as you but make it somehow more worthwhile, but right now, it all feels like the opposite. 

You told me not to cry too much; I’m sorry I broke that promise. I’m tired and depend on people and life to help me breeze through, although I know I shouldn’t expect such an easy recovery after a tragedy.

Give me a hint or a sign that I’ll see your light soon, because this world is dim without the lamp you light every night. I’m not asking you to understand why I’m so torn, but I hope you know that I’m trying to be okay. You’re out of my reach, but I’m still holding out my hand, pinning on the hopes that you’ll reach back and appear.

I’m one step behind you, but my heart still beats at the same pace. “I’ll love you from a distance” was the closure I gave you as you were leaving, and I’ll keep it.