Loss.

the watermarks on the ceiling,
the pale tile,
the unholy and blank walls,
late night sobs,
the smell of coffee,
and the darkness outside,
keeping me awake,
trying to regain hope

My mind takes me back to a place not far from then,
we sat in your room,
no talking
just the low sound of your television Westerns in the background
filling the silence for us
You told me you didn’t want to leave
That you didn’t want to be alone
so I waited for you to drift to sleep
and told you goodnight and that I loved you
you stirred ever so slightly

And now it’s been a year and five months
I’m still healing
Still trying to move on
Regretting every day the choice I made to not see you
one
last
time
And it’s nights like these,
Grandpa,
That I miss you most.
♠ ♠ ♠
I wrote this about my grandfather. It's been a year and then some, and I always think that the pain of losing him will ease, but it just doesn't. I miss him everyday.
This is very emotional for me, it goes through the time he was in the hospital, to a time when he was bed-ridden and afraid to be left alone, to current. I never really saw him a whole lot in the hospital, I didn't want that to be the last image of him in my head; but I still regret that I never gave him one last goodbye or spoke up and said something at his funeral.
Sorry for rambling, but writing is very therapeutic for me.