Grief is a weird thing.

Especially when you are grieving for so long that you forget you’re still grieving.

You feel fine until you see things that make you relive it all over again.

The little things that make you realize even in death you don’t really know them.

No matter how many stories your mom tells you, or how many of your own memories replay in your head.

You’ll never know them the way you always wanted to.

You’ll never know how it feels to miss the conversations you never had or the laughs you never shared. Cause the laughs you did share and the conversations you did have were always drowned out by the fear of them leaving again. Which was always inevitable.

I am honestly too scared to study too deeply this person I never really knew.

But this isn’t a test I should have to take.

At 12 why would I think I would only have 6 months to know everything my siblings got 20 years to study? 

And would searching for more lead to just more tears and confusion like past explorations?

Dealing with that unknown is its own pure torture.

The tip of the sinking iceberg is to see what you’ve always wanted freely given to someone else. Does she even know? Does she see tangible conversations and laughing till they cry? 

The comforting warmth of him with you always?

She must know.

You’d have to, if you just casually have boxes filled with his beliefs and thoughts and dreams. Who he wanted to be.

Well, 

Who he needed to be.

Or honestly… Who he should’ve been.

She will forever have a holdable piece of him. 

I would kill for that. 

Having a strong enough piece to hold in the crevices of my heart.

Closing your eyes and seeing moments painted in beautiful acrylics.

Opposed to the missing fragments of incoherent visions. 

Shit I’d even take watercolors instead of having this muddled blur.

All this is desired but never attainable.

There are some things that only going back in time can change.

But stuck in the present, here in my bed, is where I have to be.