It overwhelmingly smells like flowers
and maybe for this reason
the scent of flowers never seems so sweet.

My heart is racing
I’ve been here before
and my stomach turns.

This room
with old fashioned carpets
lining the path to the inevitable
filled with welcomes from men in suits
that look of pity
compassion
and routine
and all I can think is…

“how do I escape this”
do I turn around?

No,
because
there is no escape.

I enter the room
knees weak
heart broken

and I see your face
but not in the same way
you’re cold
preserved
and absent
and I go cold
desperate
with an unwillingness
to accept.

Instead
I settle for the embrace
that will come next
from family
friends
loved ones
and strangers
but not you,
all filled with compassion
but I can’t hear them.

I am here but you aren’t
I am here but I’m not

The room shrinks a bit
and the hours begin to blur
this room becomes all too familiar
in this moment
and in the future

We fast forward
a few months later
and this time passed
has not yet
served to heal
yet we reenter the room
the carpeted path
the routine welcomes
now to see her face
cold
preserved
and absent
a woman
who couldn’t face a life
without you.