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patras, greece

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Κυλλήνη, Kastro-Kyllini, Elis, Greece

My dad has been making appearances on my dreams again. It is always the sound of him killing the engine as he gets home way past dinner time. And that is coherent with him never saying no to working overtime if he someone was in need.

In my dreams, he is still alive and he never died as I blew out my candles. I rejoice when he visits me in my sleep, for I get to make a fool out of death and buy time with him.

In my dreams, the guilt of being born has worn off entirely. But my heart wrenches as I come to terms with reality.

Whoever said it gets better was lying. 15 years have gone by and yet I grieve. For someone who fears being a nuisance, a crying fit in public is mortifying.

A recipe to cope when grief hits, for future reference: writing down my feelings and allow the tears to roll down, freely.

– scratchpad notes to self, on a train ride home