Exit Stage Left: Year Three

Tomorrow will be three years.

Three years since that night.

Three years since my intuition knew.

Three years since you invited Death in.

Tomorrow another year will have come and gone without you. Two simple words, without you, still slice gashes in old wounds poorly healed, marred with scar tissue.

That night is stuck on repeat, a constant loop replaying through my mind. I remember it vividly. 

But sometimes I wish I didn't. Sometimes I wish I could forget.

Sometimes I wish I could talk to you one last time.

Sometimes I wish I could see you one last time.

And every day I wish you were still here. But that wasn't an option, and we all knew it.

I miss you. RIP JE.

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Excerpt from "Survivors"

Except that isn’t something I can do. I can’t forget.

Forgetting isn’t in the cards.

At night, the emptiness of the house is filled with my thoughts, questions shattering into pieces as I dissect each broken shard – a nightly attempt to grasp the solution. Familiar sounds bellow through the hallways, echoing the routine I’ve come to embody.

The night is a ghost town, casting shadows of those forgotten, bringing to life memories buried by reality.

Sometimes I tell myself that replaying that night might make sense of it all.      But it doesn’t.

Sometimes I tell myself that as the days pass it will get easier.                            But it doesn’t.

Sometimes I tell myself lies to subdue reality.                                              But the truth hurts.

And you can’t handle the truth.

So the truth stays hidden, buried deep inside, locked away, impenetrable.

And it’s inside, that I weigh heavy.