I think about death a lot since you died. Every single day … death. All day … death. What if I die while I’m sleeping, like you did? What if I just drift my truck across the centre line on the way home? What if a vehicle crashes into the shop while I’m at work? What if I choke while eating? So many ways to die … and then what?
Then what.
I was having such a good day today. I slept great, had an amazing shower, hair & makeup cooperated, got to work early, everything was pointing towards a perfectly lovely Saturday … and then Bad Omens - Just Pretend came on the Sirius in the shop and I broke. I just crumbled. I had no customers and curled up in the office to sob.
Funny how a song can spin the world fully out of control again. I’ve dried my tears and done my best to fix my face, I think I can blame my rosy cheeks on the cold for a while.
Everything feels small and insignificant, especially me. Why bother? Why bother sweeping the floor, you’re just going to die eventually, so who cares? Why bother eating properly and exercising and getting enough sleep … you’re just going to die anyways. Why bother with anything? Why am I trying so fucking hard to keep going when in the end … nothing matters. Nothing.
I miss you. I miss you so goddamn much that I think my heart may actually crack in half, although perhaps it already has. 684 days, my love, 22 months. And still my mind tells me it isn’t real, you’re not really gone, I’m not really here all alone, it’s all just a bad dream I’ve yet to wake up from.
I love you.
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