It’s been three years since I last spoke to you.
six months, five days since I heard your last voicemail
less than a few hours since I last cried over you
twenty-three minutes since I could swear I smelled your cologne
thirty-eight seconds since I glanced at your old watch resting upon my wrist
It’s been four months, nineteen days since you died.

I miss you.

I thought that this would be easier.
that because I was angry with you, it wouldn’t hurt so much
that since I was so hurt, I’d feel relieved
I thought I’d laid you to rest already.
laid our issues to rest
laid my pain to rest
I thought for sure that I’d laid my disappointment at your feet and called it your problem.

I was wrong.

There are days I go back in time, inside my own thoughts, and fix us.
days I replay and redo our last conversation
days I blame myself for three years of silence
days I blame you for 39 years of . . . everything
There are days, most days, I just wish I would have said, “I love you.”

I love you.

I love you.
love you
love you
love you
I love you.



Sarah Hartman (AKA: S.E. Hart) is a mother of two, a self-made photographer/entrepreneur, and lyrical poetess of over 25 years. She has been published under either her legal or pen name by a variety of online magazines and poetry forums. You may reach her at with inquiries and submission requests, or follow her photography and blog at

Cover photo by Sarah Hartman