XVI
I tried to cry in my closet but I couldn't. Five stages of grief and I'm stuck at emptiness. I stopped letting the pictures flood my mind and when your laughter rang in my head, I blocked it out. Whenever your voice echoed in my thoughts, I willed myself to stop.
Without thinking I clicked delete to every picture that had your face, every tag. I wanted to move on, so I stopped thinking about you. How you died. Running from a police raid on every young man that so much as looked free-spirited. They said you ran into an incoming motorcycle, yet someway, ended with your head bashed against the tyres of a truck. Or crushed, was it?
I didn't want to think about the fact I wasn't thinking about you, so I stopped that too. Today makes it a long time since you left. I swear I forgot the date of that Sunday. June? It was a Sunday, because we'd gone to church together, and then later at night you offered to get us booze since I was too lazy to walk with you. I told you to get something else to make me high. You said something to me. Your catchphrase. Then you left...
I've been sitting in the bathtub for hours now, trying to recall your catchphrase and then I realized I couldn't recall the words, nor your face. I thought it was a joke, but hell, I can't remember what you look like.
So for the first time, my eyes feel too heavy for me to bear. My mind is a mess.
You're everywhere. It had always been my chest- the tightness about it- but tonight my eyes are bleeding.
Never will I forgive myself for willing myself to forget you. I was only trying to shut it out. The guilt. For making them call you the irresponsible guy that got himself killed. It was because of the cannabis that you ran. The one I thought I couldn't live without.
'Siyah.
Forgive the lengthiness.
Grieve. Scream. Let go of the guilt. Let it go before it kills you.
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