It’s been nearly a year now.
One out of almost 40. In the other 39, I knew you.
You were there, and now you’re not. And no matter how smart I get or how much time passes, I’ll never understand. Still don’t.
Why anyone has to go away, leave this Earth, say goodbye. It’s why I struggle to believe in God anymore.
Perhaps there will come a time when I go to shower in the morning, and the sunlit bathroom doesn’t fill me with sadness, because your bathroom is one of the last places I viscerally remember, even though you hadn’t been in it for months.
Perhaps there will come a day where I don’t ache from knowing you’re not here anymore.
Perhaps, but I don’t know.
I seriously don’t know anything, anymore.