Just Pretend

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I wrote this, just a few short weeks after my younger/only sister, Heather,died from a drug overdose. The disease is real. And it is HEARTBREAKING, I assure you. It has been almost 4 years since she left us, and i still I miss her. Every second. Of every minute. Every day.

Just Pretend

This PAIN is like nothing I've ever felt,
I wouldn't wish this on anyone, EVER, at all,
The pain of knowing, I eventually will have to let you go,
Makes my whole world begin to fall.

I am trying so hard,
To help myself heal,
But instead, my mind, my heart wants,
To just PRETEND it isn't real.

I just want to PRETEND that you aren't gone,
That instead you're just somewhere on a beach,
To PRETEND that it's not that 'I'll never see you again',
But instead, that you are just temporarily out of reach.

But, there is a very very, heavy emptiness,
That I feel in my heart, and in my soul,
A feeling, that a large part of me has suddenly gone missing,
And so now I'm left, with a universal sized hole.

A hole - that once was filled part with your smile,
Filled part with the sound of your laughter and goofy faces,
Filled part with random messages, and calling everyone by food names,
And filled part with our "mingling" when ever we'd go places.

My sister... My comrade...
My accomplice... My partner in crime...
My very first best friend...
The most awesome sidekick of all time.

My companion..my supporter..
My "right-hand"..my counterpart..
My childhood playmate..my amigo..
My shadow..my heart.

This can't be real..
This just can't be the world I am now living in,
You CAN'T be gone........
I don't even know, now, where to begin!

Where to begin again, without my "Pookie",
Without their "Aunt HeHe"? Without my friend?
I can't even THINK of those thoughts..
My mind, my heart, just doesn't comprehend,
So, for now I guess, I will JUST PRETEND.

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Poetry is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality.

T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

TifNee837’s Poems (2)

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Tell Me It's Okay 0

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