Ghost Limbs

The silence in the house is deafening now.
It used to be filled with your laughter,
clumsy jokes that made me roll my eyes
but secretly, secretly loved.
Now, just the ticking of the grandfather clock,
a constant reminder of time marching on,
without you.

I keep finding your things,
not deliberately searching, you understand,
but stumbling upon them.
A half-finished cup of tea, cold and stale.
Your reading glasses, perched on the nightstand,
next to the book you’ll never finish.
The scent of your cologne still clinging to your sweaters,
hanging forlornly in the closet.
Each object a tiny dagger, twisting in the wound.

They say time heals all wounds.
But that's a lie, isn’t it?
Time just covers them with scar tissue,
thick and ugly, always there,
a permanent reminder of what was lost.
I feel like I’m walking with ghost limbs,
phantom sensations of your hand in mine,
your arm around my shoulder.
Memories flicker, like old film reels,
too bright, too brief, leaving me aching for more.

I tried to clear out your side of the bed today.
Just to make it easier to sleep.
But I couldn't. I just couldn't.
The indent you left on the mattress,
still faintly visible,
felt sacred, untouchable.
So I pulled the covers up,
as if you were just sleeping late,
and whispered good morning,
even though I know you won't answer.

People offer platitudes, of course.
“He’s in a better place.”
“You’ll get through this.”
“Stay strong.”
But those words are empty, hollow.
They don’t fill the gaping hole in my chest.
They don’t bring back your smile,
or the way you used to hum off-key in the shower.

I know I need to move on.
To start living again.
But how do you move on
when half of your heart is buried six feet under?
How do you breathe
when your lungs are filled with grief?

Maybe one day, the sun will shine again.
Maybe one day, I’ll laugh without the guilt.
Maybe one day, I’ll stop reaching for your hand
only to find empty space.
But today is not that day.
Today, I just grieve.
Today, I just remember.
Today, I let the tears fall,
a cleansing rain washing over the barren landscape of my soul.
And I hold onto the ghost limbs,
knowing that even in their absence,
they are a part of me,
a reminder of the love that will never truly die.