You

It’s a question as old as time.

What can you not live without?

The answer is always

You.

It’s been three years,

but the answer is still

You.

My mother tells me every day

Move on get over it

You died three years ago.

The officer that called me was so pleasant, he seemed to actually care.

“Hello?”

“Ma’am, you need to come to the hospital, there’s been an accident.”

My heart sank and it felt as if all my bones were suddenly broken.  

The answer is still

You.

If I can’t live without you,

then why am I not dead yet?

Every day without you breaks me

just a little bit more.

I feel dead.

Just because they can’t see the dark hole that’s consumed my insides doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

How am I supposed to move on when you left me -

without an answer,

without a partner,

without a father for our child?

It’s been three years,

but the answer is still

You.

Our child has a new family now,

and he’s happier than I ever was.

He looks just like you,

and I know you’d give him the world if you could.

I feel you watching over us.

He’ll never know the truth –

that it’s been three years,

and the answer is still

You.

I struggle to crawl out of bed-

to act like everything is okay when the entire world is attached to my ankles-

when it seems impossible to move.

They ask the question as a joke.

What can you not live without?

They typically answer –

my cellphone, Starbucks, my hair straightener.

But it’s been three years,

and the answer is still

You.