Flowers at the end of the bar

There are flowers at the end of the bar where you once were. Not in memoriam, just as a matter of fact. You are not missed by them, but I am left with an aching wound the size of your heart. The loss you left me is the worst and only gift you ever gave, but I treasure it as shared disappointment we both feel at the end of these things. The liquor doesn't numb the pain, nor do I want it to, every drop of sorrow in my endless tumbler is a part of you that remains. Here in this bar you are alive in me, at home in the cold my frailty shatters with a harsh reality that I am scared to confront. What I lost in you should teach me, carve routes to my heart. But I shiver with dread that the way is lost, that I'm alone in the dark.