Living

The sting of it is not that I can't live without you.
I'm living quite fine.
I dust the mantles and warm my hands by the fire.
I drink from large cups and smile when I ought to.

The pain that comes back to me wide-eyed each night
It comes from knowing
That this is the shadow of living.
The memories of you and me burn in my mind's eye.
It's like looking into the sun.

What's the point of having this body,
If all I use it for is to drag me through each day?

I press myself against the one I'm promised to.
I mouth the words I said before and used to mean.
But I'm empty.
Ringing hollow.

I call this living.