June 14th was a pretty average day until it wasn't.
The end of a time line. Of a personal clock. The timer ran out.
I had the chance to turn around. Had.
I didn't take it. I kept going forward. How I have always done. Never look back. Never turn around. Keep going forward.
For the most part it keeps me sane. This time it's been testing my sanity.
How do you process a departure without a proper goodbye?
I can't really answer that, because I'm still trying to understand why I couldn't say bye.
It's not a word I'm too comfortable with.
The vague feeling of a hollow stomach and soul. Heavier than any weight I have ever had to bear.
It's been almost a month.
The grief hits in waves with no pattern but is full of repetition. I've never been one to feel or allow myself to feel. I don't like the discomfort of feeling too much for too long.
I try to tune it out but it's there. Silent and hiding, waiting for the right time to come out and catch me off guard.
Is this a lesson that needs to be learned? A penance that needs to be paid?
How I wish to know and not to feel.
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