I know it hurts

I know it hurts. It hurts to breathe,
when the air is filled with absence,
when the sun peeks out of its awakening
unaware of the emptiness that life sentences.
Time moves forward, a relentless river,
follows its course, indifferent and cruel,
each instant seems unbreakable,
like a joke that hope weaves on paper.
The wind aches in its icy embrace,
and every star in the distant sky
feels like a forlorn whisper,
memory, a weary mirage.
I know it hurts, it's on my skin,
but in pain I find my voice,
For though the air is full of paper,
my soul will resist, weaving its farewell.