Heavenly Hotline

[A/N: I read a blog today, can't remember the name, but the author wrote something that resonated with me. So this is to him, myself, and others who will have loved and lost, the love of their lives. Godspeed.]

If heaven had a hotline, I'd have used my last life's savings to hear one last laugh. Dearly beloved, now that you've departed, how am I to live out our life's dreams? How do I continue to exist, as every morning finds me missing your warmth and every end of the day reminds me you're nowhere near asking me how my day was?

It's been a million and one hours since I last found myself remotely close to how you feel, remotely close to how you smell, sound, how you exist. I've taken on a new form, one which I know you wouldn't be proud of, one which feels nothing like me. I'm grieving, the loss of you and the loss of...me. You were my whole world, losing you meant losing the parts of me that you helped build, helped mold and grow with the love you poured into me. Where do I pour the love you taught me to hold onto for you? Heaven must have a hotline, because I don't know how much more I can talk to myself about you, I don't know how much more I can tell my friends, or how many more times I can stare off into space at work, thinking of you.

I can't imagine what my life would have turned out like if I hadn't met you, but I would be a liar if I didn't sometimes wish I never met you. I wish I would've never gotten to meet someone who would one day take my entire heart with them into the afterlife, leaving me unable to understand where I begin to pick up the pieces of the heart I had before they came into my life. You became the air in my lungs, the blood coursing through my veins, and for that, I curse you, eternally, for leaving me breathless. Breathless, standing on the side of an open casket wondering if this is where all our dreams come to die.

I curse you, for making me watch them close your chapter this way, for making the cemetery a new destination where I find myself. For throwing sand on your casket, as they lowered it into what they called your new home. I thought your home was where I am, and what was yours was mine, but since you've relocated to the otherside, I don't know where home is for us anymore. Surely this means heaven has a hotline, because if it doesn't already, it definitely should now.

I've said many prayers to wake me from this dream, from this bad nightmare in which I lose you... and subsequently myself. Since the universe won't wake me up, I've written this, in hopes that there is a life in which I can reunite with you and read this to you, as I narrate how it felt to lose the part of me that began to mean the most to me. I've written many love letters, many poems and dedications, but none have come close to the way in which I had planned to dedicate my life to you. I will love you in this eternity and the next, through the bounds of time, your time on this earth and up in your new home away from home.

Since heaven doesn't have a hotline, I'll continue to visit you in your new home away from home, I'll pray like we used to, tell my friends about you like you're still here, because your memory will live on through me. I'll stare off into space at the thoughts of you, and one day, when heaven opens a hotline, I'll spend my life's savings, to hear one last I love you.

Heavenly greetings in your new home, my love.