A Letter Written Long Ago, To The First Man In My Life.

I used to rely on you to get me through times like this. And now you are gone, having slipped through my fingers like scooped water. And now you are gone, leaving me with the world, lives, placed in my hands. And now you are gone, asking me to tie my shoes, keep my head up, and my heart open. And now you are gone, and a stranger has taken your place in that four-poster bed. And now you are gone, and the music has drained from my heart, escaping my body by falling from my ears.  And now you are gone, taking my best friend with you. And now you are gone, leaving me with a hollow box and broken heart. And now you are gone, and I am told to take comfort in a book full of myths and a mind full of memories. And now you are gone, and I am told to sit straighter, stand longer, think harder, be better. And now you are gone, and yet I see you in every body of water, every yellow flower, every hand hold, every pair of blue eyes, every smile with a slight gap between the teeth, every soft vice, every freckled nose, every warm coffee, every curvy road, every dark red, every open heart. And now you are gone, but I still see you in every mirror that reflects my face, one that so closely resembles yours. And now you are gone, and with you goes my heart, my soul, my ability to love. And now you are gone, leaving me with only a carved out hillside to return to. And now you are gone, and I cannot raise the dead from their graves.