The tender ache of his absence, even in light of being here and not knowing any differently - the absence is solid, and damp and heavy on my heart. Seeing pictures and the light in his eyes... the tender ache of his absence, so obvious and so real. How can the absence of something be so apparent? How can the absence break the inside of one's heart? The tender ache of absence from this life. Life without the break, life without the ache, life without the absence, is impossible.
What is missing from my heart now, is a reminder of what used to be. And what used to be is a reminder of what is important from now until my own death. My life, my tender ache, my broken heart shall compel me forward through the darkness, and into the moments that once were.
The tender ache will never go away, but the tender ache will help me build a life from all things important.
In the meantime, the ache sucks.
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