I told them if I lose him too, I will die
Because these are the threads that bind me whole.
I don’t want to explode into a million particles of stardust
returning to the cosmos; returning to the earth,
But when I close my eyes, I see your body one-and-a-half feet underground,
and it’s starting to decompose.
It, not you. I can’t think of you like that.
I ask myself, how do I resurrect that which is not whole?
I would bloody my hands and tear the skin from my bones,
digging you back to life, sewing you back together
though you would snap like dust. Like stardust.
I would give this all up, watch it playback, erasing as I go,
pressing pause when I hit the day before I lost you.
This time when he asks, "Should we take them?"
I won’t hesitate.
I won’t let my silence speak for me.
I will answer a resounding, “Yes.”
I can’t know what stage in my life I’d be in now,
where, what, how, why, who,
but I would have you.
I would still have you.