When the gut-wrenching sobbing stops and I can breathe again, I'm going to go outside.
I'm going to sit on my back porch, look up at the stars, and tell her I love her. I'm going to cry to her and beg her forgiveness and give her mine. I'm going to make her promises and vows. I'm going to tell her that her life was worthy and meaningful.
For five minutes I'm going to believe in an afterlife.
For five minutes I'll let logic and reality crumble under a breaking heart.
For five minutes I'll be nothing but a little girl who needs her mommy.
For five minutes I'm going to believe she can hear me.
For five minutes we'll be together again.
And everything will be alright.