If You Were Still Here

If you were still here, everything would be different.

I wouldn’t be doing this alone. I wouldn’t be making decisions without you. I wouldn’t be navigating a life I never wanted.

If you were still here, I’d call you. About everything and nothing. About the big things and the small things. Just to hear your voice.

If you were still here, we’d be making plans. For next week. For next year. For all the somedays that will never come now.

If you were still here, I wouldn’t know this kind of pain. I wouldn’t know what it feels like to miss someone so much it physically hurts. I wouldn’t know what grief does to a person.

If you were still here, I’d be different. Lighter. Happier. Whole.

But you’re not here.

And I have to live with that. Every single day.

I have to wake up in a world that doesn’t include you. Make decisions you’ll never weigh in on. Face things you’ll never know about.

But you’re not.

And all I have left is “if.”

If you were still here. If things were different. If I didn’t have to do this without you.

But I do.

And that’s the reality I wake up to every morning.

The one I’ll carry for the rest of my life.