Dagger in your hand.

i spent half my life writing poems for you,
so when they asked me to write something
to say at your funeral, I couldn’t really refuse,
but believe me, I wanted to.
it is one thing to write about a person you love
whilst they are living. when they are dead,
it’s a different experience entirely. you will never
read the words I’m writing. you will never read my words again,
you will never read again, or laugh again, or hold my hand-
i’ve been crying all day, i can’t do this again.
every word i write destroys me afresh.
i know they wanted this to be a celebration of your life,
not a pained realization of all the ways in which your absence
will break my heart every day for the rest of mine, but
my god, I don’t even know how to breathe without you.
what can I say? i can tell them that you were the most
wonderful person i knew. i can say that your laugh was contagious
and your smile full of joy. i can say that your embrace felt like heaven and
that your hand fit perfectly in mine. i can say that there will never be another
person who shines quite as bright as you did, my love, but it’s not enough.
there are no words to describe how much I love you, or why.
you were compassionate. you were kind. you were everything i want to be,
and talking about you in past tense is tearing me to shreds
because that is what you are now, a part of the past,
no longer part of the present, never in the future.
your heart stopped beating and in that moment, so did mine-
because so much of me lived within you.
i am empty, a fragile shell of a girl, and i cannot write this,
i cannot say this because every time i think of you,
or move my mouth to form words i start to cry
because i do not think i can live here, in this world devoid of sunlight,
in this grey matter where you do not exist.

i will tell them you were beautiful in every way possible. i will tell them
that love shone out of your eyes like beacons of hope and that
your every act was done with kindness. i will tell them that
without you i would not be here to write this.
right now, i wish i was not here to write this.

this time tomorrow you will lie still in a wooden box, six feet under the ground.
i have spent hours of my life watching you sleep, my love,
but that was when you were breathing.
the lid of your coffin will be closed. i will not be able to
kiss your forehead, tears dripping down my cheeks.
i never said goodbye, not for real. i always thought i would see you again.
tomorrow i will have to say goodbye, watch you go back
into the dust from which you were made. i do not know what kind of dust
God used to make you, my love, but my goodness, I think it must have been special.
you will lie in that cold box, and I will cry the heart wrenching cry of a person torn in two,
because in that moment i know there will be nothing i could want more than to be lying under the ground next to you.