Letters to My Dead Lover 01
Days don’t work like that you see. From morning to noon I can be compiling the days events in my mind, all perfectly aligned and within reach, but when my eyes open and I cast them through the window, no longer does my mind participate with the illusion that I am fine. For I am not fine, as much as I may feel I am in the vicinity of my therapist office, I am not fine. All that I do to justify my emotions fade away into darkness for when they are truly present there is no justification that will cause them to dissipate. When I am fully present I am aware of the pain that not only I suffer but those across the world as well. The coffee shops I wish to go are viewed through a veil and seem so far out of reach. So far I cannot possibly get to them now, even when they were just a mere 15 minute drive from me. I recall sitting on the outdoor furniture, smoking as I have so many evenings before, and being told, gently, that you are gone, you are not coming back, and it is time for me to move on. No longer can I cry for you with someone near me, but instead my pain and my tears have already been internalized to be let out when I am met with the solitude I crave daily but also despise. For when I am alone all the memories come out to play. They are snowflakes falling from the blackest of skies and landing all around me, submerging me completely in a blanket of past, present and future.
