You were right about the senselessness of all our words, and the worst that I could say is that every breath is a whisper reminding me to miss you, and a trace of what I'd sacrifice for one more shot at half a year ago. This longing is a mountain in my throat, knowing without comfort that there's nothing I could have done. To confine this to regret would be easy and familiar, but I could only let it go and try to forget you. I can't regret what I didn't choose. I'd like to think it could have been different somehow. I'd like to convince myself I fucked this up somehow. I'd like a simple way to justify this failure, to understand why you're not here with me.