I'm Not O.K. (And That's O.K.)

I walk into my room and your scent hits me,
I'm not ok.
I say your name instead of someone else's,
I'm not ok.
One of our songs comes on the radio,
and I'm not ok.
I hear your voice call my name in a crowded room,
and I'm not ok.
I always look around me in a communal area, for fear you're near, and I'm not ok.
I fear burdening my friends with this pain from you,
and I know I'm not ok.
I walk into the office, close my eyes, and tell our tale,
and I know I'm not ok.
I share my pain with someone, and in their eyes I can see,
I'm not ok.
I look at my reflection, make a face to make myself laugh,
and while sound comes out, etched around my eyes are the lines that read, I'm not ok.
I'm curled up in bed tighter than noose around a dishonorable man's neck, and I hear through sobs,
I'm not ok.
I wake from dreams of me screaming I'm not ok, and I realize, I'm not ok -

And that's ok.

I see how far I've come without you,
and I'm ok.
I hear the sighs of relief off the rooftops too high to survive from,
and I'm ok.
I sing the chorus to one of our songs loud,
and I'm ok.
I claw my way back to humanity,
and I'm ok.
They hold my hands and whisper,
I'm ok.
I laugh hard at a joke for the first in a long time,
and I'm ok.
Someone tells me that they've liked me for a few years,
I'm ok.
It is becoming less and less lonely in bed,
and I know I'm ok.
No longer do sunrises and sunsets feel so bittersweet,
and I'm ok.
I can hold my head up now,
and I know -

I'll be ok.