Missing you is like an underground spring that never runs dry
I refuse to call this grief. So Mundane.
When you left I did not understand what you had taken with you
Now I look around for things buried underground
and I cry invisible tears that streak through my soul washing little pieces of hope away with them.
Missing you is like an underground network of caves in New Zealand.
I refuse to call this grief. Someone else’s word.
The hole you opened up when you died does not seal over
rather it leads somewhere else, endlessly burrowing further and deeper into new unexplored places
as I realise you are missing from my future and now also my past. Two places I need you the most.
Missing you is like an emptiness that no analogy can cover
call it what you like
I miss sitting on that red couch holding your hand and talking
you seem to have taken a piece of my mother with you and also the walls to my family
but I realise that there is nothing I can do to rebalance the unfairness of it all and I love you.