It hasn't happened yet.

I feel her ghost whenever I come into the room,
the presence sends chills, melancholic gloom,
wishing for whispers, echoes of my own regret
I want to get over her loss, I want to move on,
I want many things, but none of it has happened yet.

I hear her voice, in  monotone, inside my inner ear
as if enunciation is too intimate for me to hear,
words are just too cruel, sounds are a better bet,
she's inside my head, I know that she's really dead,
I know might be going crazy, but it hasn't happened yet.

I feel her warmth whenever I lie there waiting for sleep
I touch the depression in our bed, soft and deep,
tears are now dried, this is as bad as it will ever get,
the fairy tales lied, happy ever afters denied,
I want to forget her face, it would be the safest bet.

I try to talk to her, expecting no response, anyway,
we're like ships passing in the night, drifting away,
I should have said goodbye, I just wanted to forget,
now I am haunted by my own guilty suspicions,
I should move on, but it still hasn't happened yet.