Macabre Moments

It’s hopeless.

I miss you.

I get anxiety when I think of you.

It still feels as if I can rewind time and stop you from leaving. I think of you every day, think how quickly it happened.

It’s still so surreal.

But it hurts all the same.

I call my mom sometimes, just so I can cry to her, telling her that I miss you, telling her I just want to talk to you.. but it feels helpless. It’s some kind of desperation driving me.. desperate desperation to know where you are but not really know anything. No way to communicate.

Sometimes that despair drives me to scream your name until my throat hurts, hoping you can hear me, hoping I can hear you respond.

Sometimes my brain scrambles to understand death. The “d” word. Saying it instills a new fear me in me, brings an existential crisis and threat to my life. I try to wrap my head around your absence, but it’s far too great to comprehend.

You died.

I can’t believe it. I refuse to believe your story ended so soon, so fast. Where are you?

When I write to you, anxiety is my companion. When I write about you, sadness is my friend. But, deep down, what really throws me for a loop is the despair. The lack of hope of ever seeing your smile, listening to your voice, holding you in a hug, hearing your laugh. The little parts of you that are eternalized in pictures and videos are what I long to experience in real life again.

My mom understands because she feels the same desperation.

Imagine that? Calling my mom and dad, the people who are supposed to be superhuman, feeling the same pain. What do I do now?

Where are you?