I miss his smell. His breathing and how he feels. His sounds.

I don't know how to cope.

Wish I was very old. Or I was terminally ill. I truly do.
Knowing I have to go on for years, it breaks me.

In my years of pain and illness I kept going for him. Now the only thing from quitting altogether is 3 family members who would be heartbroken.
For me, quality of life was never good since becoming ill. Now it is zero.
I exist. Only for those people but never for me.

Some nights I wake up, because I can't hear him breathing. Then I realise he isn't next to me.
In my sleep I still reach for him.

Every day is another day survived. I do not live. I am counting down my days.

I just
I don't know

So much pain