334 Days Down

To think it's almost been an entire complete rotation of the earth's exploration around the sun. More days than I'd like to admit, since the bold presence of your existence was tragically and swiftly snubbed. It's the forever vacant space I hold for you, with the words: RESERVED FOR KAT, written in the most beautiful sky-blue. It's the thought that you were once here, made up of living Mico organisms that worked together in creating your unapologetic human form. The same one I will forever think about; the one my reflection resembles, also the one I now mourn. To know she's gone, now past days ago. This constant mountain of pain I climb, only to feel like I remain on an everlasting emotional decline. To really believe it's been 334 days since you were called back home. I don't understand how my legs still move and continue to pull me through. Or how my breath manages to keep my lungs filled, when my brain neglects to remind me what to do. How I have learned to quickly recenter and come to terms, we no longer physically have you. Guess that's neither here nor there. Although that thought is on my frontal lobe often, or at least hanging around somewhere. I know we all have an end. I just will never come to terms as to why yours had to be so early in your life, and truly so sudden. I want to hug you and tell you I love you, but that is not possible in this body right now. I really hope I get to see you in another existence somehow. Until then 334 days without you, down.