Still

Still, nearly seven years later,  my heart is screaming. Why.  What did I do.  Why. Why.  What did I do.  Tonight,  all I want to think about is her.  I want to close my eyes and hold my breath until I can remember her smell.  The way she felt in my arms.  The way she felt in my body.  The life that came before her death. I want more.  I want photographic evidence she was here.  I want to plan a sleepover for her giggling friends.  I want to hold her hand.  I want to hear her voice.  I want to feel her breath in my hair.  I want.  I want.  Why.  Why.  Why.  Still,  Why.