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7 Years

Oh Jacky Boy, this is tough.
7 years, and I still have fleeting moments of glancing out at your car, thinking for a split second that you’re home, only to realise as I’m walking to your room, you aren’t here anymore.
7 years and I still can’t bring myself to wash the sheets on your bed. I’m so scared of losing that little bit of you that’s ingrained in them.
7 years and your shoes still sit in the shoe box at the front door, because I can’t bring myself to move them.
7 years and your toothbrush is where you left it, because I can’t bear the thought of putting it away.
All these little things we do every day, and I can’t stomach them.
I sit in your room, soaking up every memory of you.
I run my hand over your work-clothes, knowing, the $5 note in your front pocket is money that will never be spent.
Your work boots, a reminder of the life you never got to live.
Oh, Jacky boy, everything you ever touched is held onto so tightly.
I miss you my beautiful boy, and hope with all my heart that wherever you are, you’re happy.
There is nowhere you could go that I won’t be with you, mate.
I love you always.
🩵
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