That’s the thing about grieving life it comes in droplets like a drizzle before rain then suddenly it showers you. One day you wake up feeling like you’ve surpassed the mountain of grief and the next you are back to ground zero barely feeding yourself. Nothing is harder than grief. Nothing is as consuming as it. Nothing is as blood sucking and ruthless as grief. It breaks you and crushes your frail bones then throws you out to face the wild as if your pain was worth nothing. Sometimes you wish the person you were grieving were actually dead rather than having to live with the reality of them actually still existing. Yes, I know death isn’t easy but neither is life. Neither is convincing your brain that: “No, brain they aren’t coming back. No, brain it is over.” It hurts to be weak and what is worse is that some days all you have is to be weak. Especially, if you are an emotional person, a wreckage of a human and all you do is build hopes and expectations that maybe tomorrow they’ll come back from the dead. Maybe tomorrow I’ll understand and it will make sense. Maybe tomorrow I’ll realize that it is all a dream. Maybe tomorrow it’ll be better. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be better, maybe tomorrow I’ll be better, but then tomorrow arrives and you’re still trying to fake it till you make it, fake it till you become it. Somedays like today I doubt I’ll ever move on because here I am still writing and I can no longer trust myself, whether my emotions are valid or whether I am lingering on to the past. It is horrible to lose trust in yourself, in your judgement and it is hard to talk to people about how you feel because everyone thinks that you will be fine and maybe you will but sometimes we need someone to tell us that we might continue to feel this way for a long time. Last time I grieved I wasn’t honest with myself I immediately filled that void but now I want to dwell in the emotion and pain of grief. I want to indulge myself in it. Here’s to grief may we find it, linger on to it, then finally surpass it and never look back.
Her tears were enough to reignite the flames of my rage, a fragile soul made of roses and daisies in such pain, unable to connect the dots between this man and the dad she knows from worn out photographs her mother keeps in the top drawer of her dresser that is slowly falling apart, she gazes into her father's eyes and it finally clicks that this is her dad, the man in the picture is real, this is the very first time she set her big, brown eyes on her dad, and she breaks down into showers of tear turning her face from pale to scarlet, filling every inch of her body with inexperienced joy. The mothers falling to their knees, eyes clouded with tears in complete denial that this day has finally shined upon them, the days turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into years, and she patiently waits holding on by her faith in God, she sees her son and breaks down, he might be injured and his legs are at the brink of being amputated, but in that moment nothing matters but him, he is h
Comments
Post a Comment