I sit in a room full of people,
Looking upon teary eyes and blotchy faces.
People who knew him longer than I,
Better than I,
Who shared jokes and stories and laughter and tears.
I listen as they speak,
Filled with sadness for what is,
And for what could have been.
I watch and listen,
Eyes glistnening with tears,
And despite the hosesty of my grief,
I know it is nothing to theirs,
And I feel like an imposter.