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Grief. A five-letter word to name the heaviest of feelings and deepest expression of love. It seems awfully short sometimes.
There are variations of grief, of unexpressed love that sits in your chest long after the loved one has left. There’s the grief of losing the one you love, of losing a family member, and then there’s the grief of losing someone you never thought of losing.
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I remember the day I lost you. I remember it like yesterday. On the drive back, it was raining, felt as though the sky had cracked open to make sense of what had happened. A few days earlier, I had borrowed your books and somehow finished reading all but one. I promised to return your book the next time I see you. I wanted to keep my promise, but now the book sits on my shelf, collecting dust, because I still can’t bear to think of it on most days.
I saw you after that. I saw you in my dreams, but the dreams weren’t very kind to me. After I woke from seeing you standing right in front of me once again, I stared into the darkness. I couldn’t remember whether it was all a lie, and you were still a call away after all. Once the realisation set in, however, I wished to return to the dream. I really do hope you’re content, wherever you are.
I’m getting older, and the thought of being older than you haunts me a lot. Today I write about you because I’m scared of forgetting your plaid shirts, the way you rolled your sleeves, or your radiant smile when sitting at the top of the boat’s bow. I didn’t get to join you that day, but I sit there now. You were right, it’s more fun sitting there.
