2.5 years and counting. There's a clock somewhere that's been watching the seconds, and a watch out there that has been lapping my tears up with each tick of the hour hand. Tick, tock, tick, tock. Grief can grow and shrink and stretch but never disappear. If I create it into something, is it better? Or does it just hurt me from angles it couldn't reach previously? Angles that I gave it? I am not scared of death, nor am I scared of the act of dying. What terrifies me is the absence after. The empty bed. The un-played music. The remembrance that turns into nostalgia that turns into Déjà vu that turns into something you can't quite grasp. How do we grasp it?
I am not scared of death, nor am I scared of the act of dying. What terrifies me is the absence after. The empty bed. The un-played music. The remembrance that turns into nostalgia that turns into Déjà vu that turns into something you can't quite grasp.
How do we grasp it?