miramamì

Most days I can carry it well. Then something small breaks the surface and suddenly I’m underwater.

I linger in sleep because it’s the only place he still feels close. Waking up feels like remembering a death that hasn’t happened.

And then begins the daily search for enough comfort, distraction, or dopamine to make peace with not knowing how he’s doing. I’m fine really, I am.

Guess I’m truly heartbroken. How is it that you can grow so deeply attached to someone you’ve only known for a brief moment in time? He made me feel emotionally alive, seen in a way I hadn’t been for years. For so long I wandered through the mundane, and now I sit staring at the scattered pieces, hoping they were real… hoping they still form the beautiful picture I believed I was holding. Hoping all the pieces are still somewhere in the box, even if it’s destined to sit on a shelf collecting dust.

A box filled with little treasures from the Spring. Memories already beginning to fade at the edges, slowly turning into echoes against the ceiling of my mind. Phantoms of joy. Glimpses of warmth. The memory of a safety net that only seemed to hold us for a day.

I don’t know why it’s impacted me this deeply. I wasn’t expecting any of this.