on grieving someone still alive

I still go to bed with so much to tell you.

Last night,

I dreamt of you twice.

One day,

that will stop.

I’ll learn to accept

nostalgia tastes like French Vanilla coffee,

home smells like lavender, orange, and star anise,

and I’ll never see you wear an anklet.

It’s not about that.

It’s knowing tomorrow

won’t have your voice in it.