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Come Home


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Come home.


I know what they say

I hear the words

but they have to be lying to me

because if you were really dead


my heart wouldn’t still be beating.

I wouldn’t wake up each morning

clutching your pillow

reaching for you

weeping on the cat that doesn’t understand

why you’re not home.

I don’t understand, either.

I wouldn’t be choking down

each bite of food

thinking that it tastes like nothing

but a mouth full of s***.

I wouldn’t be walking


paying bills and writing checks

forgetting basic math because my mind




It can’t be true.


I want you to come home now, okay?

I won’t be mad

even though the joke’s not funny.

I won’t say a word about

the last two weeks

of hell.

Whatever I did

I'm sorry.

Just come home.


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  • 10 months later...

I can understand the sentiment. Very much so. I still expect to see him walk through that door, smile at me from the car next to me at the stop light. hold my baby boy and tell me with his protectiveness that he would never let any harm come to me or his nephew. That I will hold his son one day and know that Levi lives on. It is hard to accept no for an answer.

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