There is no linear process-

No neat boxes to check off, no five steps to complete and feel whole again

I cannot find the path to my “return to normalcy”-

There is no timeline for when this scar will heal
New and pinkened skin; the only reminder of past traumas
Instead of this spitting, oozing wound
A visceral and physical reminder
Of the hole in my soul that you used to occupy
Now empty and screaming.

You didn’t “pass away”-

There is nothing gentle about this nuclear wasteland you’ve left behind

Died doesn’t feel right either
Too final, too harsh, too insignificant

My plant died
But my plant didn’t carve out a piece of my heart and knock the breath from my lungs when my world
Tipped upside down

I’d love to find a word that could do justice to this feeling-

Of a person being there and then being gone.

A home knocked down by a freak storm
with no warning bells or tornado sirens- just there and gone.
Leaving us to pick up these ruined pieces.

This is a nuclear implosion-

A psychological gunshot straight to the solar plexus

Bang, crack, boom
There and then not, a moment defined by before and after,
Where no one wants to think of the during.

It feels like a brand across my face-

In the pause before my once easy smile

In the tears I blink back before laughing
In the war paint I apply every morning
Only to cry it off in the dark.

I just want to catch my breath again.
God, I just want to breathe again,
To inhale the same air as you one last time-

and tell you I love you.