Accept

You used to tease me
About how I only wrote about my life.
You used to joke that I would turn
Every experience and emotion
Into words on paper.

I never tried to deny it—
After all, how could I?—
But I would like to add
One thing to it now.

I do write about my life,
And I turn my feelings into words,
But I only do this with things I understand,
Things I accept.

You may not think this is important,
But I see what it means,
It’s because of this that it’s been weeks,
And yet I’ve written nothing about you.

What words will do my feelings justice
When I’m not even sure how I feel?
What can relieve the emptiness
When I can’t see the void to fill?

It’s been weeks now—
Since I’ve seen your face,
Heard your laugh,
Felt your lips,
Whispered your name.

It’s been weeks
And I can’t write anything about you.
Why?
Because I can’t accept that you’re gone.

Are you really gone?