Living without you would be like living without air,

       Struggling for gasps of breath and air that don’t quite make it to my thirsty lungs,

              inhaling in nothing but dust and exhaling out nothing but staled bits of my flesh.

                        Existing, laying there, slowly suffocating until I’ve turned to the very dust                                    

                                filling my cementing deserted lungs.

 

Living without you would be like being trapped in space with just my naked body,

       Strangling bubbles forming, choking my veins and arteries as the blood tries to circulate,  

              but cannot find the path or ambition to run again.

                     These cynical bubbles stagnating and killing my heart

                            that just yearns to beat and to match its beat with yours.

 

Living without you would be like being sucked into a blackhole,

       Straining to escape or to at least get a glimmer of the outside universe, but being trapped  

              forever inside this infinitely lonely void,

                     endlessly falling

                            and silently screaming.

 

Living without you is truly strange,

       as I have lived for two decades and one year without you ever being by my side,              

              but in the eleven months together, out of the three-hundred sixty months prior,                 

                     my entire being has adjusted to yours,                                              

                            creating a symbiosis of the purest love and all the vitalities of life.

 

Living without you is simple,

       my dearest Luke:

              it would not be living at all,

                     but only simply existing.