I didn't know that learning to live without you would be an art.

I wake up and your absence greets me first than light with a dry blow, sure, and no anesthesia. I walk around the house avoiding looking at the spaces where you used to be, but everything betrays me... Your trace is everywhere but you. I look at the chair that is still waiting for your weight, the door that no longer opens with your laugh, the mirror where I no longer find your reflection. It's all still here... and at the same time, nothing is. I look for you in the sounds, in the crunch of the wood, in the wind that sneaks through the window. Sometimes, I close my eyes and I can almost hear you, I can almost touch you.. almost. But reality is a ruthless executioner, and the art of not seeing you is demanding. He asks me to follow, to learn, to get used to it. Take you down memory lane, as if they were enough. The truth is, they are not. Cause it hurts not to see you. Cause it hurts not to hear from you. Because it hurts not to touch you. Because it hurts with an intensity that tears the soul apart. And life goes on, like a river that never stops, but I feel drowning in its current. They tell me time will heal, that absence will become lighter.. but what do they know about the vacuum you left? What do you know about the difficult art of not seeing you? I choose to live but not to one day die. I choose to live to love you every day, to carry you in my blood, to speak your name without fear, to embrace what I still have left. For this love is not ashes, nor dust, nor shadow. This love is not extinguished with death. I know someday we'll meet again... and this time it will be forever I dont know the author. All credits to the author