I was told a story about something painful. As if death is anything but.
There are times when hearing about a person dying does nothing for me. I have watched gory videos and laughed over creepypasta post while drinking my herbal tea. I have sliced my wrist and burned sins into my skin in hopes that it would all go away. Honestly, death is nothing but a friend.
Yet, there are times when I find myself crying over it. I do not understand how my greater craving can be my nightmare. Death astounds me with its grace and yet, here I am suffering.
A loved one has passed away and I do not know what to do. I do not know how to feel….
I am just numb to it all.
But everything I write suggest otherwise. I cant concentrate on school cause I begin to think about him. I begin to miss a man I haven’t seen in years. A man broken by a war I wasn’t alive to witness. So much so little kids had to stay silent in his presence. I miss him and I do not know why. He was the kindest man but I can’t remember a damn thing he did. I barely remember his voice and yet I miss him.
I regret the fact that no one trusted me enough to love him.
Because I can’t say I love a person I wasn’t given a chance to know. I hate myself for never reaching out. But how could I when every sound I made took him right back to the battle field.
I miss him all the same.