it had been the year of beautiful mistakes.
the year i learned that living sometimes meant loving and sometimes it meant losing, too.
the words flowed from his mouth as smooth as honey and i drank them in, letting them sit in the pit of my stomach for days until they soured.
sometimes, i can still feel the heaviness of them, the weight slowly shifting to the center of my chest expanding into the flesh of my lungs.
bouquets of apologies could never fill in the craters he left in my skin.
my pores still ache with the sound of his voice and the velvet of his fingers, but i'm stronger now, than i ever was before.
my body is no longer molded to the curve of his spine and the memories of his touch are no longer endless galaxies spinning inside my head.
the many days of mourning have come and gone with the rising and setting of many suns, but i still find myself wondering if he gave a name to the missing piece of us.
if he knew that i had called her emma, my sweet emma.
she had come to me many nights in my dreams and she was more beautiful than the most breathtaking of skies.
and i sang quiet symphonies for my baby girl and i wonder if he could make a sound at all- if she was the story his tongue never quite told, the ache he could never hold onto.
she will forever be the missing piece of me, the hushed whispers in the moon light, the wind humming to the leaves, the butterflies beneath my skin, a piece of my heart.
i have learned that living is to loving what loving is to losing and sometimes we lock our hearts in cages, but sometimes, we learn to set them free.
“emma is not a person; emma is a place that you get stuck in; emma is a pain that you cannot erase.” -justin vernon
