[▶] for safekeeping.

chamomile

0032, 21/11/20.
i miss you.

-

even now it's been
almost a year
I still feel like I never got the time
to properly mourn you

my lips still quiver a little bit
and when I see anything. anything that reminds me of you
and that day
and your face
and you laying so peaceful
so unnaturally still
why won't you get up, why won't you wake up, you're right there, you're only sleeping aren't you, why won't you wake up-

I knew it.
I saw it coming.
but how are you supposed to deal with it anyway?

fresh off the stress of
the biggest examination of my life
months and months of cramming on end
finally finishing my last paper, thinking I'd get to breathe again
for a day -

then I took that photo in the lift on the way home. after going out with a friend I hadn't seen in a while.

and I walked out the doors and saw the stretcher and the open gate and the multiple pairs of shoes

my steps slowed because I think I knew what was coming.

it isn't fair.
like a flood of black and red just
paramedics surrounding you, engulfing you
some machine inhumanely pumping your chest like a bloody lifeline
I hated it
I hated that I knew you were going to die
I hated that I knew this was it.

everyone standing around. crying.
I didn't know what to say or do.
what are you supposed to do?

and I sat in my room that night all alone while everyone else was at the hospital
praying to God and talking to Him for hours and hours on end
before they sent the message saying
you died.
fuck it.

and then I had to press on and pretend
everything was fine
while I helped people and powdered faces and packed on eyeshadow and contour
prepping them for all the joys of a show.
and I feel horrible saying it because
I love them and I treasure the small conversations and laughter
adore helping them get ready for their stage
but at that point I just couldn't muster up much strength at all to be anything more than just
exhausted.

and juggling all this with
having to go to the funeral
every night, for hours and hours and hours and goddamn hours -
I was so exhausted and I didn't get a chance to just
breathe.

and I never got to properly mourn you.
it's so unfair how we had to feel that pain so much more because we lived with you.
they didn't. our cousins. everyone.
they didn't understand. they would never feel the loss of you the way we did.

so I find myself crying
tears running down helplessly
as I breathe into my hands, eyes wide open
trying not to lose it completely.
even as it's been almost a year. I still feel and find your traces everywhere
the gold cross sitting on the chain you saved for me
they said, since I was no more than a few years young
we were baptised together. how often does a person get to have that? you, ninety-two and I, sixteen
I still remember the day after they
cremated you
and I sat at my desk watching a video or doing something or whatever it was, I don't remember -
all I do remember is that at that moment, I wanted to walk out and do a silly dance and make you laugh
but I couldn't.

that spot on the sofa seems awfully odd.
never feels right laying there.

and I hate the fact that you'll never get to see any of my performances.
I wanted so badly for you to see them at least once.
see what I'd made of myself. make you smile.

even now I still don't know how to deal with the grief.
what do I do..?

melted missing fuel and fire
I
breathe
gasoline

- fin -

i hope you're doing beautifully in heaven.