And now you're gone

 Here's the thing. The moment you're gone, I'm supposed to let you go. I'm supposed to wish you well for your journey and bid you godspeed. 

And then suddenly I feel a twinge in the centre of my chest and I miss you. I can't help it.

Your winsome little face which I loved to kiss. 

And whenever I came home, you would rub against my leg and tell me off for ever thinking to leave you for a while, a bit, any time at all.

While you were there, I felt guilty every time I had to go out for a time, and nervous while I was out. Because you were there, waiting for me. 

And you were so little.

You never grew.

You remained a baby

My baby.

And now you're gone.

I don't know how to deal with death. I never know how to deal with death. All the books I read, all the thoughts I think, all the hours spent with my legs folded, breathing in and out...all for nought. I can't get beyond this pain. I find it hard to breathe.

All  I can do is miss you.

And miss you.

And miss you.

And reach out and long to take you in my arms but you're not there.

And you will never be there again.