It had been years since Jamie's dead, but it still felt to me like she was alive, and had to die every day. Each morning I woke up expecting to see her wake next to me. Not even 10 years could erase or wipe away the need and the hope I had to see her beside me. Now I kept a photograph of her in my nightstand, so I could see her first thing in the morning when I woke up, but it was a long time before I could bring myself to put it there. I tried to do it the first night I spent without her, but I couldn't. I couldn't see her for a long time, but she was everywhere. She was in the stars, in the Church, in our kitchen, in the drawers of our room, in the golden ring placed around my finger. She was everywhere. She still is.
I wanted to tear myself apart, to scream, to shout, to brake things, to knock the portraits off the walls. I had to suffocate my sobs in my pillow, I cried asking for help, for a reason of why this had happened to us. To her. I still hadn't got an answer, and I'm starting to wonder if I ever will.