Death is a strange thing. Somebody is then suddenly only the memory, the imprint they left on others is left of them. And grief is processing this strange phenomenon, this absence of something that was there. And now inevitably isn't. Grief is heavy, and dark, and never the same. I don't mourn what I lost, I mourn that I didn't love enough when I could. And that's something that'll never let me rest.
To my Tata, my Dédi, my late classmate, Terka, and my brother's guinea pig. Requiescat in pace!
(2024.02.29.)
YOU ARE READING
Documenting my human experience
Non-FictionJust me existing writing about my feelings, thoughts, overall experience with life. The cover was shot in my art class room and I fucking love it.
