Status Updates From Picking Daisies on Sundays

l’épilogue avec Mt life de Billy Joel en fond 🥹

the prose is kinda throwing me off

et puis je chouine quoi 😔

No one tells you how much losing someone feels like inheriting a dream. Because that's what thinking of him felt like: a dream. For him to have been here for decades, and then only to exist in my pictures and memories. I'd like to imagine that if I hadn't developed object permanence as a child, then maybe my mind would've had an easier time accepting that he wasn't here anymore.

It was one of the first real things I had seen of his in a long time. Proof that he existed and traveled and purchased things for himself not realizing that one day they'd just be things again, no longer his.

« To be close to you was to be haunted by what I couldn't have and to be reminded of how much I truly wanted you »

« I tried to stop loving you, but along the way, you found your way into the sound of my laugh, the style of my writing, and the threads of my clothes »

« Intimacy was to be seen by you, free falling was to be touched by you »

« And when she speaks, I become a bee enthralled in a field of daisies »

« My heart has been broken a million times by the same hand, yet I would let it happen a million times again if it meant it was by you »

son bouquin s’appelle cueillir des pâquerettes le dimanche ? MDRRR

« I wanted him in a part of my dress »