Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.

The speaker describes grief as a physical alteration of reality: the beloved’s absence becomes a “hole in the world” that must be navigated. By day, the mourner can consciously avoid the void—suggesting coping through routine, distraction, or willpower. At night, however, defenses weaken; memory and longing return with force, and the speaker “falls in,” implying vulnerability, insomnia, or the way solitude intensifies loss. The blunt closing—“I miss you like hell”—cuts through metaphor with raw, colloquial intensity, emphasizing that refined language cannot fully contain bereavement’s pain.