Love Lost

I clutched his hand.
It was a smooth, cold reminder that he was gone forever. I could never kiss his lips again, hug his waist, poke his ribs, or share a secretive smile with him again.
He was gone.
I stared down at his body. He wore a layer of make up, just for show, which I found fake & intrusive, and his best jeans & red shirt were buttoned on. My heart stirred inside of me- a wild, tousled beast of sorrow, writhing, and reaching for my lost love. He was here, wasn't he? Laying down beside me in a sleek wooden bed with a lid. He was only sleeping, right? Just taking a little rest. He would wake up soon, wouldn't he?
No.
He was lost.
My only love; my only true, courageous, passionate companion had flown away from this world.
I held his hand to my chest for nearly ten minutes. Others swarmed around me; choking the air. They gave me no space, no privacy, no place for grief.
Let me be! I thought inside of my head, but somehow, I suppose it escaped from my lips.
The crowd, filled with dainty tears, and "I am so sorry's", backed away slowly, staring at me like I was a wild one.
I was not a wild one. I was a lover, who had lost one section of her soul.
I brushed a stray tear from my cheek, and carefully let go of my love's hand. I had to be strong. I had to keep living. My love would want me to continue, would he not?
I knew deep within the crevices and cobwebs of my heart, that I would never be the same; I would never be whole again. But I had hope.
I could cling to hope, could I not?
Hope that I would meet him again in heaven, where his scarred, beautiful face would shine.
Through the curtain of horror, destruction, sorrow, and loss, I still had hope, though I had love lost.