These days I can’t write anything that’s not about you. As I went on and decided to continue my life, it’s funny because I think I’m still living for you. I wouldn’t lie when I say, I think of you every time I see something that reminds me so much of you. And it still hurts.
If getting out bed is already a brave thing to do, then I’m not doing bad after all. When all I did was try to survive a day, then it’s still fine. And if I decide I want to do my laundry, then it’s good, I’m being productive. But then, it still hurts.
You see, I’m trying to do all sort of things just to buy time. Watching Volleyball games entertained me just after you left. Work trainings occupied me. My Life Class is enlightening me. One could say, I’m doing well. But it still hurts.
Ma, the house feels empty without you. Nothing ever felt the same. How I long to call your name whenever I come home, to talk to you again and simply tell you how my day went. I wonder if you could’ve said anything, or bid me a proper goodbye, would it hurt less? Just maybe, I’m dying to know.
