The grief comes in waves and makes it's self conformable in my bones. It feels like work getting from under the sadness. Happiness is effort I don't always want to put forth. It is lack of interest in everything I use to love and numbness for the people I know I still care about. I feel dead and empty inside. There's a magnetic hole trying to attract something it will never get back. But it pulls anyway. Finding every mundane and meaningless object along the way. It finds chocolate and old facebook post. It finds plants that I keep killing. It found dice for DnD that I will never get to play. It found school. It found a person who will never have time for me but looked good on paper. I realized I needed a hobby before it found one for me.
I am doing everything I can to get though this. Talking to her doesn't help. Not talking to her doesn't help. Writing helps me understand myself. My friends try to make me feel better. Sleep is all I can do to escape the feelings and my doctors insist that won't help. Traveling is distracting for a bit. Work is helpful. Being busy is all I can do. Those are the days I don't miss her. Then there are days like this where I didn't do much of anything and we'll we're here. Writing trying not to look up at the stars. Not that I could forget a face full constellations anyway.
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