I can’t concentrate.
Everything is shifting.
And nothing is interesting.
This is the beginning of the last week I can go to “Our house”
Its funny that it has taken me almost an entire year to get the last of my stuff out of there... and even still at this very moment, there are just a few things left.. Surf Board (that I’ve used once).. A mountain bike (that isn’t even technically mine).. and the vintage sausage stuffer (that my grandfather gave to my father... who gave it to us... who I will have to return it to now- since we failed) I just can’t bring myself to pick up just yet- even though I was at the house just yesterday.. Even though the house is literally 5 minutes away from where I live now... Even though I’ve had plenty of time...
I'm sick to my stomach.
It really is completely over.
Every last little shred.
I will always love him- and there is no person that I will love in that way- ever again. And I’m OK with that. I accept that. That part of me will forever be occupied, and I could never disrespect that.
This has happened way faster than I could have anticipated.... and unfortunately it isn’t one of those situations that is better when you just “Rip the band-aid” to get it over with. Instead, it is almost too soon- ripping the flesh along with it- leaving a big, raised, purple scar.
I’m consumed by confusion and sadness.
Words and feelings have stopped making sense.
A blank coloring page- just an outline- empty inside- but I can’t find a marker, a crayon, a fucking pencil...