1.37

Time really does fly.

8 years..

We shared a home,

without her on your side.

I grew connected to you.

The real you.

The uncut form of your arduous love.

I used to believe I knew you, the real you.

But I was wrong.

It was not an act.

I just never really know who you really are.

Until she passed.

I suppose it's true that love truly blinds us.

Was I blind?

Or was it her love for you, 

that masked everything?

The flaws, the mistakes, the agony.

This picture-perfect life was painted by her love.

Every truth was hidden.

It had been a long time, 

but it felt like only yesterday.

The wound is still bleeding.

The resentment still exists.

But deep down,

we both know,

I miss you.

I don’t miss the agony.

Don’t miss the hardships,

nor the tears.

I miss having you around.

I miss being able to cry on your shoulder.

I miss having someone to talk to.

Though you don't always have my back,

I know you accept me exactly as I am.

Forgave me every time.

You’re not what I need.

Never what I want.

Not the version I know.

But nonetheless,

you loved me.

I know you loved me.

I am aware of all the sacrifices you made,

for us, for me.

But in your quest of love,

you forget me.

I love you,

but you were blinded by your pain,

to see me, standing next to you,

trying to survive as do you.

Trying to fight just as hard.

Trying to adapt,

trying to be the person you need,

though you never see my efforts,

I tried so hard, 

to be enough.

For you to see my love,

and to stop your silly little quest,

in finding her in other person.

Though I never say it to you,

You hurt me, us, in the process.

I'm taking so much time to recover.

I still am trying.

Though you were very hard on me,

I still crave your love.

Still crave your presence.

Our lives were not perfect.

Neither you nor I.

But I learnt to live life,

with your love.

Though it was hard,

though many tears were shed,

still, 

I love you.

Life is still hard.

But I no longer cry on stupid things.

I am tougher.

I am stronger.

I might be better than who I was,

but still,

I miss you.

Would you be proud of who I am?

of my achievements?

of who I am today?

This is not a poem.

It’s me,

trying to comprehend,

what I’m feeling,

after you’re gone.

I hope you are happier.

Rest well.

Love, maira.