Saying nothing

[one week ago]

She died today. I barely knew her, hadn’t learned to love her, but I love someone who did, does; that doesn’t help. I feel helpless, and useless, and a lie; what good is a love which cannot make you smile, and sheds silent tears you never know about, a love that leaves you lonely because it’s easier to do nothing, afraid to make it worse.

I want to say I’m sorry, but I can’t because I didn’t do this to her, although it might be easier for you if I did, or if someone did, because then you’d have someone to be angry with, someone to blame, instead of endless whys. I want to say I understand, but I don’t, I can only imagine; shades of dull aching to your emptiness that hurts, so bad. I want to say I’ll be there, but I’m not. I want to hold you, but I can’t. I want to say life goes on, but that’s the whole point; it doesn’t, not for her.

Your pain squeezes regret from me. That every step isn’t a step home. That every anecdote forgot is a piece of life unshared. That every word unheard, unremembered, dies its own little death. That every second passing, passes into an irretrievable neverwhere. I know, even before it’s happened, even before the “it might happen”, that I’d want to run backwards through the past, snatching up all the idle minutes and weaving them into time, more time for what, who, really matters.

I can’t say that, either.

I love you, is all I can or want to say, really.

But it’s not me you want to hear it from.

……

I’m sorry for your loss. I understand. I’ll be there. I’ll hold you. Your life will go on. I love you. I love you. We love you.

That’ll have to do, for now.