I dream of the day I write of a lost love,

The kind with trials, lost trust, and cause;

Instead I write as a lost soul, searching for the feeling once more.

No, not the kind most 18 year olds would,

One that keeps it's promises and one you know can trust, not just a friend but a grandfathers love.

I find it difficult, even after 8 years 

The death of a best friend is one that wont allow the tears to dry.

First it's the realization, the knowledge they aren't here.

You find it hard to breathe and live.

So you just survive.

Second comes all the memories, the good and bad.

The times you laughed, times you cried, times they hurt, and finally  the time they died.

You don't want to blame them,

But how can you not when they beg for death?

Taking my hand, he slowly slips away,

Saying "I love you" then resting still.

All light is gone, all joy sucked out, a girl who doesn't understand.

She wishes to take back the days, the pain, and the suffering.

The child is selfish and praying that he will come back,

Not leave her to walk this journey alone.

But I now know that I should not wish for him to come back,

Only that he would have had less suffering and that he has another journey that lasts.


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