5/8/2022

1095 days
156 weeks
36 months 3 years

who’s counting anymore?

everyday for 3 years i wake up and know two things: i’m closer to dying and you’re already dead.

it’s been 3 years since i’ve consciously felt alive. like really living a life: “a-live.”

it’s been three years since the man who brought me into this world left by his own decision and i barely believe i've aged a day since.

just inched closer to dying.

that’s grief: a dusty veil, a pestering cloud, a lost will, a broken clock.

time slows down when you’re grieving. but it moves too fast when you’re living. some moments, smiles, long kisses, hugs, glasses of wine — make me wish i could stop time.

stop time. all i’ve wanted for three years was to go back in time or speed it up, so i thought, literally anything but stop.

i didn’t think it would be possible to find my way back to a life worth living; to waking up so in love, life and time are precious again.

three years is a long time, but tomorrow it will be longer; but longer after that, and longer still.

so tomorrow i will wake up and know only two things: i’m closer to dying and you’re already dead.

it suddenly feels wrong to consciously deny feeling alive. like really living a life: being “a-live.”

i don't love or miss you any less, but more through the will enough for both of us to try.