I am not the same

I'm just not the same without you, and I never will be. I still miss you and reminisce about you everyday. I'm never quite over you: not when I stay awake or go to sleep. Everyday is one without you, and none of my joy or comfort is compensation, nor shared.

I am not the same. Do you remember the way it feels? If I close my eyes sometimes I pretend that I'm there again. My hair is like a twisted rope for fetching a prince and it's been an eternity since it was short. You only knew it that way. It draws sharp perspective on the passage of time, even if memories remain vivid like abstracts. The conflict is stretching the boundaries of my knowledge. I hid today.

I am not the same to you. I never shall be. I am not the soul mate, the eternal, the even constant. I am the change you hate, and you are the constant I adore. Some things never change. This doesn't change with geography, with the constant of time, the expansion of space, the people walking faster and faster, the phone connections, the minting of money, the coffee cups.

I am not the same without you. Do you see the tiny, thumping resistance in my heart to all I have chosen to embrace? I am altered by the reality, by the imaginary. I am altered by the little nest you made in my heart, and the mess you left when I severed the connection.

I am not the same. I am vulnerable.
I am not ashamed, but I am not the same.