In my heart I carry a weighted box. I don't think about it daily, but it's there, subtle and constant.
When I dream, the ache is a different kind of pain. It's more real, harsher; it throbs like a freshly cut wound and I wake up in tears. Thirteen years, and it still hurts. Like a memory from yesterday, I live and relive it, I am displaced every time I come to. Remembrance is the only way I know how to mourn.
If you were to be born again, in this lifetime, I want to meet you once more.