Love Hurts

It hurts to move; it hurts to speak, to breathe;
To realise, with every single breath,
She might exhale her requiem and death
Will still the room she lights, with silent ease.
 
If she is now the centre of attention,
Where, once, she was the flower on the wall.
She's not so shy sans shadow, so they stall
The recollection. Yet, it's worth a mention.
 
They eulogise; they pray; they keen. They fear
Intensity can never be surpassed;
The air exudes raw tension; love exerts
A dreadful pressure. Time is drawing near
When any second left could be the last;
It hurts to move, to speak, to breathe. It hurts.