Missing

Every time I think that I have made it past the pain of my broken heart, it comes back to knock me over again.
I can go for days, sometimes weeks, without giving him serious consideration, pushing the thoughts away before I have time to consider them. Eventually, though, something sneaks up on me; a song, a picture, a memory. I do wonder if one day soon I’ll feel angry enough that I won’t miss him anymore, wish for his voice, his touch, his smile, but I just don’t know.
Today it was Prom, the school event of the year. The children that I’ve spent the last few years teaching have grown so fast into such wonderful young adults that they make me proud. I’m glad to have known them, honoured to have had a hand in their education and curious to see where the future will take them.
Is it fair to them or me that the sparkle of tonight was dimmed by a memory of my first prom? Not so long ago he held my hand, laughed with me, listened to me while I talked through memories with a similar group of young people. Tonight, my hand is empty and my heart is missing a piece.

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