Intellectual Suicide

It seemed the ideal setting
In the dark room on that night,
We made much of our presence
With our tongues which would not bite.

The first month without her starts.
A fine morning in the light.
When aware that I'm away
The first thing I do is write.

Time passes at some slow speed
When with weeks I try to fight.
And then I start to wonder
If what I'm doing's right.

Can worse anguish ever come
Than what I suffer tonight?
So much I miss <name>
With my heart and soul outright.