(no subject)
yesterday marked one year since my father died.
There is no other feeling like the loss of someone you loved.
I feel as if I am alone with the gods, and the nights flame with fire.
I am fighting the good fight but I am always losing.
I just want one more conversation. I could go the rest of my life collecting days,
and none will ever outweigh the one I wish I had back.
This hole in my heart is in the shape of him
and no-one else can fit it. Why would I want them to?
I dont know when the last argument happened,
or the last time he smiled, or the last time I looked into his eyes
and thanked God he was in my life.
Now that he is gone, that is all I have bothered to think about.
Day and night.
It's so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone. There is an ache in my heart for the imagined beauty of a life I haven't had,
from which I have been locked out, and it never goes away.
It is profound and catastrophic and will leave a crater in me that nothing will ever fill.
My father will die over and over again for the rest of my life.
In grief, nothing stays put.
If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.
There is no other feeling like the loss of someone you loved.
I feel as if I am alone with the gods, and the nights flame with fire.
I am fighting the good fight but I am always losing.
I just want one more conversation. I could go the rest of my life collecting days,
and none will ever outweigh the one I wish I had back.
This hole in my heart is in the shape of him
and no-one else can fit it. Why would I want them to?
I dont know when the last argument happened,
or the last time he smiled, or the last time I looked into his eyes
and thanked God he was in my life.
Now that he is gone, that is all I have bothered to think about.
Day and night.
It's so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone. There is an ache in my heart for the imagined beauty of a life I haven't had,
from which I have been locked out, and it never goes away.
It is profound and catastrophic and will leave a crater in me that nothing will ever fill.
My father will die over and over again for the rest of my life.
In grief, nothing stays put.
If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.