This morning I woke up and he was still dead. Damn. Just when I get used to the idea I have to fall asleep and start all over again the next day. And the next. And the next.
Then one day I'll wake up not thinking about him much. Then one day I'll wake up not thinking about him at all.
Really I'm already not thinking about him much. It has been so long, in fact, that I'm beginning to wonder if he was real or just someone I made up. That, I think, makes me saddest of all. A real deep-down-achy sort of sad. One that comes very, very close to touching the place in us all where we question the point of things. Because I used to not be able to live without him, yet now I'm doing just fine.
25 April 2006
Wide Awake
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4 comments:
Hi, fell onto your blog, and I read your latest entry. I don't know who you are talking about, but I feel like I understand. My brother died 7 years ago and sometimes I forget him, and I wonder if I just made up all the memories I have of him. I can't imagine him being real.
Oh Dahli. What have you done?
(And what the hell does 'no comment' mean????)
You know, I know this.
this must be black van induced sadness. just remember when the cops come around that you really didn't know him.
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