When It Hurts The Most

Most days,
He could overcome
The pain…

The longing…

The desire…

Just to see her.

Just to touch her.

It wasn’t that he didn’t
Have a life…

He simply didn’t have
One…

Without her.

So, in the evening
After a long,
Hard day…

When he poured himself
A drink,
Or maybe two…

He couldn’t let it go.

Every thought
Was of her.

Every picture
Painted in
His mind’s eye…
Was of her.

No escape,
No relief.

Simply the deep
Ripping,
Pain

Of missing someone,
So much.

Most of the day,
He was fine.

But this time,
In the evening…
The loneliness
And longing,
Suffocated him,
And crushed his heart.

This was the time…

This was the time…

When it hurt the most.

 

© 2017 W. C. Stacia, Jr.

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