Things I wrote

Nobody is coming. You have to be the one to save youself.

And as death begins to walk towards me, I close my eyes. I’m in the car. The wind whistles through the crack in the window Dad always left open. A familiar turn and bump tell me we are almost home. Mum opens the gate. I squeeze my eyes closed tighter. Dad parks the car and opens my door. He picks me up, and Mum tucks me into bed. It’s so warm. A summer breeze flutters through. I am loved. I am free. I am ready to let go.

It is cold and dark outside - but I will try - I will continue to try to see things with love

The thing is, all that exists is memory. Memory is all we have, the only thing that is truly ours.

Sitting down and reminiscing. Constantly sitting in the orange glow that is the past. The thing about reminiscing though is that no matter what about; whether a memory with someone you love, or someone you once loved, you’re always left feeling a little hollow afterwards; a small void not even that orange glow can reach.

I will hold you delicately in my heart and weave through strands of glittering gold in memory of what we once were

I’ve come to accept the fact that there will never have a right time. But I also know that the time we had together was time that was right. The finite days spent with souls entwined were days done right.

The hardest part of goodbye isn’t the raw moments after, when you’re so consumed by pain everything is a blur. It’s what comes after. It’s the pain that lingers. The questions that arise. The anger that stirs. The constant wondering. The lasting thought of “I miss you” that finds its way into everyday moments. That’s the hardest part of goodbye.

I carry a piece of each person I have ever loved and cared for. We truly are mosaics of the people we have loved and lost, loved and grown apart from, and loved and continue to love.

I try to enjoy moments as they come. I have the rest of time for them to become memories.

I often wish to escape my mind. I yearn for a moment of silence. I wait for the wave to drown everything out. And then terrifyingly I realize up until my last breath I will live within this prison of a mind I was born into.

Sometimes memory is all we have. Sometimes memories have to be enough.