I hate that you’re gone.

You were cruel to leave me behind,
breathing in carbon dioxide,
with nothing beautiful to save my life.

I can still hear your voice in my head,
whispering those words;
promises to never leave,
to come back.

You swore
on your soul
that you would never leave.

Liar.

I cleaned your room
the other day,
watching the sun fall behind the trees,
the blistering heat echoing
through the open window.

Your books and other personal items
all packed away into
a cardboard box marked,
"Storage",
and I fight the lump in my throat,
as I set that box
at the foot of our bed,
and watch it as I go to sleep at night,
the stars winking at me
as the lights go out.

I loved you so much...

but now I think
I hate you.