“Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.”
— EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY
I am not a poet. But I wrote a haiku. I wrote it at grief group, in the company of others whose world also has a hole. We all struggle to find words, often unsuccessfully. That day I found words, and each time I reread my words they ring true. And then there are the poets, whose words are right there for the taking. It has been 31 months. I miss you like hell.