The death of hope
It's been a little more than two months now. I still think about her every day. Every time I hang out with a friend, catch a movie, go out to dinner - there's a little voice in the back of my mind that says "Julie'd be having such a great time with us."
I still have no pictures of her aside from the one on the handout I got at her funeral. None exist of her and I together, as friends or otherwise. There's still no stone at her grave, just dirt and some flowers that've been there since they put her in the ground. It's all so sad, but I still force the smiles because hey, life goes on.
Until it doesn't. And past that? I've run out of optimism. I know what I hope for, but I'm pretty sure I'm wrong. If you're gonna be wrong, you might as well be wrong about the big stuff, right?
I miss you Julie. I miss it all.
I still have no pictures of her aside from the one on the handout I got at her funeral. None exist of her and I together, as friends or otherwise. There's still no stone at her grave, just dirt and some flowers that've been there since they put her in the ground. It's all so sad, but I still force the smiles because hey, life goes on.
Until it doesn't. And past that? I've run out of optimism. I know what I hope for, but I'm pretty sure I'm wrong. If you're gonna be wrong, you might as well be wrong about the big stuff, right?
I miss you Julie. I miss it all.