12/26/2023

9534

9535

One more day. 

I have lived one more day than he ever did.

Strange. 

All of it. 

The pickle that I’m in, it’s all strange. 

Grief.

It’s strange.  

Living after all that has happened?

So strange. 

How I pick myself up out of bed each morning

and perform my routines

and watch the sunrise like it does everyday. 

It nudges me,

that strange day,

event,

moment in time

where he didn’t want to live another day.

I get angry,

I get sad,

I feel like the entire world is resting on a single needle pressed into my chest

and I just can't fucking breath. 

Strange

how I could have sworn that I hated a man so much,

but now wish that he could have had one more day,

one more opportunity

to see that golden light rising in the east

and realize that he wanted to live 

one more day after that.