Lost and Found

I am lost.
I was wrapped, like the tightest of presents, 
in his identity and every bit of life.

But accidents take even the sure-footed.

Some days it hits you harder than others.
You wake up and you're looking at yourself in the mirror
and then you realize:
you're alone.
He isn't here anymore.
He's never coming back.
There's nothing you can do.
And you'll never see him again.

Who am I in this? 

Your hands stop prepping 
and you bury your face in them
or cling to the door frame
trying to keep yourself up
when you're drowning
in your own tears.

Who am I anymore? 

You drive way too fast
or too slow
and don't see the cars around you.
You nearly drive off the road
or miss your turns 
because you can't see past the darkness
in every bit of your mind. 

Who am I without him?

You're waiting in line
and you see the scratches on your arm,
made moments before
without notice,
wondering if anyone around you
had ben a witness to weakness.

Who is this?

You lay in bed and try to forget
the man you always want to remember.
You can't breath and you can't live
not like this.

I am lost.

But I will be found.