anything in return | frank ocean [+18] complete

thinking 'bout you

The notice of Gia's funeral and the actual service ended up being more than I bargained for and, instead of peace I seemed to open up a wound that I was just learning how to heal.

I hoped visiting her grave site would fix me. I put on my best black dress, maybe a bit too short for the occasion but nonetheless I left feeling even more internally conflicted than when I arrived.

I'd dealt with the trust issues. I'd dealt with the feelings of worthlessness. Life dealt me card after card, waiting on me to scream blackjack. And as the smoke finally started to clear, there was an emptiness that I still didn't know how to deal with. Affected my emotions, my friendships...affected my family.

Thank God I wasn't as alone as I often felt.

My best friend would probably tell me at this point to shut the fuck up. More than likely I'd reply with a hug, letting myself sink into the expensive and comforting smell of his cologne and soft sweater. I'd appreciate him for always knowing just what to say.

Our friends would lure me into a massive tackle situation where there might possibly be tickling involved, and I would spend too much time trying to catch my breath between laughing and squirming to escape to even think about the three month old hole in my chest. I would appreciate them for the distraction.

My boss would kiss my forehead, fatherly, in the midst of whispering for me to cheer up or that I'd be okay, while his wife – my other boss – would maternally offer her shoulder for me to cry on. They wouldn't think I was whiny or anything and more importantly – they would listen. I would appreciate them more than I'd ever have enough words to express. But they'd know.

My family would watch me smile, and laugh, unaware that I was dealing with a lot of internal shit that I still had no idea to tell them, not wanting to deal with being judged. They'd have their suspicions, though. I'd appreciate them for even bothering to notice. They had a habit of ignoring me unless acknowledging my presence was absolutely necessary.

And him? There was always a him not too far behind any troubled woman's stories, right?

He would pull me into his arms and we'd lie there like that for hours as I cried, feeling guilty for finding comfort in the fact that he wanted to love me even though I wasn't ready. He always had a way of seeing beauty in obscurity, seeing good in the bad...and I'd appreciate him seeing the potential in me, even while I was so broken.

This time, I didn't have to shell out any gratitude or worry about being anyone's wet blanket. I was home alone.

My new home, my new place of solace.

I moved out of that apartment plagued with history I didn't want to haunt me anymore a few months ago. Sure, the smell of Chinese still made me feel sick but I'd take that over cold sweats and panic attacks whenever I fell victim to her memory.

Something in my conscious was telling me that maybe I should feel remorseful about our last correspondence, but it wasn't loud enough. I mean, how much remorse could you possibly muster up for someone who manipulated and lied to you for months?

I'd taken up the habit of drinking water whenever I felt the need to get up and make myself a mix of something that'd probably make my chest burn. There was no victory in being a hypocrite and drowning myself in vodka to get away from my problems.

Someone that was now dead.

Sipping my Super Big Gulp cup full of ice water, I curled up on the edge of my couch with my computer before slipping my glasses on and checking my work email. Bullshit, deadlines, inquiries – things I didn't feel like dealing with right now – and here I was, the queen of procrastination. My life was turning into a chorus of I'll do it laters.