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Better late than never?

Does it make sense to start a blog about grief almost three years after the initial loss? I don’t even known if I’ve got enough to say for more than this one entry. I guess we’ll see. All those poems i wrote in my head about grief being my silent parter; my invisible friend. I just watched a movie where it was described as a brick in your pocket that you carry around. I wondered if I had somehow written that scene without knowing it. Not my words but i understood them like they were. I couldnt write for the longest time. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to write about this. Now I suddenly have a lot to share. The timings not coincidental. This is the first time I’ve felt this way. Since I loved and lost you. This is the first new new-love since that. And it’s not even love yet. And I’m falling apart.
I will write about this like you’re dead even though you’re practically my neighbor. But the you that I loved, he died. You don’t even remember those precious moments. You dint remember changing the lightbulb that made me fall on love with you or serving the soup that made me know you noticed me. You’re not him. You’re his shell. And you’ll never read this so I can’t hurt you by writing it. It’s a truth we all know anyway. Even you. Oh the horror of it all.
Anyway, it’s starting to fade from my memory too now. I just cried on a plane to San Francisco because I couldn’t remember what you said to me that time, when you were driving and we were on the phone. I was fighting you – trying to talk you out of coming to me. We talked in circles and I know at one point you got mad and I suddenly got scared. I know by the end if it I gave in to you. But I can’t remember what we said or what you did to convince me. Maybe it was just that sudden fear of losing you. Maybe that was enough to make me take a second look. But I can’t remember the details and you certainly never will. And my heart breaks all over again. The tragedy of it all. The cruel unfairness. We should be growing old together. It should be our child being celebrated. Three years. We’d have danced at that wedding. Id have given birth to that child. But you’re a shell and I’m falling in love again (falling in like? Open to the possibility of love let’s say) so everything I boxed up so tightly – everything I walled up….its all coming down now. I’m unravelling and I know it’s time so I’m writing.
Grief was driving. Then she took a back seat. Now she’s breathing down my neck even though she’s nudging me to move on. It’s time, she whistpers but it hurts so much more than her silence.
I don’t want to stop writing. I want to let it pour and pour out of me but my battery is dying and I’m smothering my new love (possibility of love) before I can wake up and find him gone. you had a headache and we went to sleep and nothing was was ever the same. You never woke up and even when I think my nightmare is over it’s not. Will it ever be? How can it? How can it?

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