I long for the days I believed I mattered.
In those halcyon days, I could see you smile,
hear your voice, marvel at your words.
I knew by all of that how much I was loved, and at long last,
I was content.

I mattered, because I was loved
Because of that love, my place in the universe was set.
Everything suddenly made sense,
even my failures made bright and shiny-clean.
Your understanding moved me, and I knew I was the luckiest woman alive.

Then came that horrible day,
the day which ended everything.
Your body gave out, and you were gone.
Just like that, our dreams were denied.
Just like that, I relearned sorrow, and forgot happy endings.

Since that day, I've realized that what you were remains, albeit muted by time.
What you were was important, valued, loved.
And can never be forgotten, never be mislaid.
What you taught me, what you brought me,
was happiness unmixed with sorrow -- a rare gift, one which shone like the stars against the darkest wintry sky.

You adored me, and I worshipped you, and together we could move the universe.
Our gifts mattered then, and oh! did we delight in creation!
Yet now, after your body has gone to dust,
the confident, assured wife must now be laid aside,
to make way for the grieving widow within.

Our love must now be as a phoenix,
because only the phoenix has any hope of surviving
the ashes of despair, grief, and mourning.
The ashes of our love sit bitter on my tongue, and yet,
the phoenix must rise again to greet a brighter future anon.

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