夢想。

Two weeks later, I keep on reminding myself that grief is a process. How has it already been two weeks? It feels merely days, at most. 

It’s been spring break for me for the past week. Life seems back to normal where sadness feels more distant, especially when sunshine is abundant, the wind is cool, the sand is soft between my toes and the waves are lapping at my feet. Friends are surrounding me and laughter is always piercing the air; there are things to do, places to be, sights to see.

But then there are moments where grief hits and threatens to consume me, and the moments are sudden, unexpected, unrelenting. The pain I feel for the loss of you, my friend, is very real. One of these moments happened after a weird night of bar hopping and stumbling out of a club intoxicated, drunk from a combination of too many numbing shots and a round of cigarettes. Naturally, we trekked to a beach nearby at 3 AM. 

Standing on the silent beach-- no sounds heard except the waves crashing and the sound of laughter-- I gazed up at the night sky and the stars, looked back down at the push and pull of the constant waves, and suddenly found myself sobbing without any warning. I moved away from the group and stared at the stars, fixated, and allowed myself to cry and think of you. There was something about this scene, Miho, that caused me to think about life and about you-- the beauty of life, the sadness of it, how the waves will never, ever stop for anyone -- not even us, not even you. The world keeps moving, but you are not in it, my beautiful friend. And in soaking in this moment, there was something wholly painful and unjust about it all. How I am here, and you are not. How this moment is so beautiful, and yet you are not here to enjoy it.