Grass is growing, rivers are flowing. Everyone goes on as if nothing happened. Of what possible importance can anything else be since I don't have you?
I try to fill my days with anything meaningful, however small, however tiresome. The routine activities, of course, are chores and obligations I can't let go for too long. But meaningful? No objective, detached person needs to convince me that taking up a worthy cause will put my churning thoughts off myself and onto the welfare of others (whose suffering is likely greater than my own. Yes, I know). Please don't patronize me, my ever-niggling inner voice, with high-sounding but hollow, worthless platitudes. I have no difficulty sorting out the whys and wherefores in my mind. It's the heart, ripped bleeding from my chest, that cannot fathom why you, my beloved, have been torn away from me so prematurely. Whether sooner, whether later, never could there be a right time to say goodbye.
That's the bitter irony: though too much time had passed, I set my heart toward you and home. I rehearsed my words, my sorrowful apology, my plea that we might make a fresh start. Certainly, by virtue of your kindly nature, you would not have hesitated to say, "Yes, my love, all is forgiven." If certain of nothing else in this miserable life that I claim as my own, I could be absolutely sure of that, your seeing the best in me.
It is too late. I was wrong - not about your sweet and forgiving nature - but that you would gently reassure me all would be right again in this, our little world. Now, in your silent presence, I stare downward toward a cold and grave you. Please accept my tears and these yellow roses ... I know how you always sighed with such ineffable joy every time I brought you your favorites.
I promise to return again and again ... to place more yellow roses upon this, your eternal bed.
Until such time as I should join you....