8-5-1994
Florence always liked books.
She used to sit with me over tea and discuss her monthly read, whatever it was, it was on her bedside table, with those gold rimmed glasses and the lamp shade. The way she would laugh over the text she was reading, and those gorgeous red ringlets that would frame her face while she was reading.
She was beautiful, i would watch her do anything, i was mesmerized by her
She would want me to write this, although she cant read it.
my mother said that writing down my thoughts and feeling would help me mourn. I didn't really want to, i dont have much energy these days, even getting out of bed feels like a bother.
I lost Florence 3 weeks ago, it was quite horrible news, really.
She was always so healthy, well, thats what she told me.
Hearing the news was hard, i dont think i can properly process this at all to be honest, it just feels like shes away for work again, but this time no matter how much i miss her she wont come back.
I think this is all quite stupid actually, no one will read this, hopefully i wont do it for long.
- Joseph
YOU ARE READING
Old Oil Paint
PoetryJoseph has recently lost his past partner Florence, he writes monthly journal entries about her. His sanity slowly decreases after the loss of his partner. He writes her poetry from time to time.
