Six Months

I did not cry yesterday. The distractions afforded by play-off football, a Seahawks win, and binge-watching a new show on Netflix allowed me to have one day with no tears. It does not sound like an accomplishment, but it was a brief solace from what has been true every day for six months.

(I’ve already failed at having a day two.)

Half a year and sometimes it still feels like yesterday that he was here. Where’s he just slightly out of my reach, still only one phone call away. What’s worse, though, is when it feels like a lifetime, like it has been so long that I question whether he was really here at all.

It really makes you question time, grief. The past is your present and the future is something you avoid thinking about because how can you picture something with out him.

I don’t look forward to the next six months or the years thereafter. And I’m told it’ll get better … with time.

July 2016

Each day that passes
takes me further away.
Each sunset is a hundred miles
each sunrise, a thousand more.

And what destroys more than
each added mile, day after day
is the thought that I can still just
turn around, back to you.

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