Is your drama going to have an intermission soon?

341 days have passed, and it feels like an eternity since you left me. I told myself that I wouldn’t put pen to paper until I reached that symbolic mark of 365 days, but I can’t keep my promise. It’s as if the moment October 5th came and went, my anxiety spiked, and I found myself trapped in the haunting memories of last year, October 2022.

I can’t help but replay those moments, like a movie that won’t stop playing. Every last time with you, each laugh, each touch, they’re etched in my mind. It’s haunting, and I’m always on the lookout. I think I see you in the corner of my eye, behind every turn, but when I reach out, it’s just the empty air. It’s like a relentless trick my mind plays on me, a cruel reminder that you’re gone.

I miss you so much, and the longing is unbearable at times. There’s this unexplainable fear that I’ll lose you, even though you’re already gone. The grief is like a weight that I can’t shake off. It’s hard to manage my emotions. I can feel myself spiraling, losing control, and I don’t know how to stop it.

I keep hoping you’ll visit me in my dreams, just one last time. But then, I realize I sometimes sabotage it. Maybe I’m scared that the dreams will be so vivid that waking up without you will be even more painful. It’s a complex dance of desire and self-protection.

Where are you? Why did you have to leave? I need you so badly. I long for your comforting presence, your care. I need you to take care of me. Please, come back.

It’s a jumble of emotions, a rollercoaster that I never wanted to ride. But writing this down, getting it out, it helps. It’s my way of reaching out to you, of keeping your memory alive. Grief is a messy journey, and I’m navigating it the best I can, one day at a time.

A note to myself:

Take your time to heal and express your emotions as they come. Grief is unique to each person, and there’s no right or wrong way to experience it. Writing can be a powerful tool in processing your feelings and memories.