Four years later and I'm out of words.
I can't explain the way it hurts.
I can't deny my feeling bitter,
when a baby laughs, and I'm just the sitter.
While some leave scars you see so clear,
wounds like mine just disappear.
The pain, I feel most every night,
it scoots up close and holds me tight.
When death chose us to intertwine,
this pain became my glass of wine -
my solace when it seems surreal -
a love affair to make me feel.
My comfort is this aching heart.
It's been here with me from the start.
It tucks me in most every night,
and memories flash til morning light.
A strong reminder that you were here,
This pain is something I hold dear.
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