I'm Sick Of Doing Bad Things And

Don’t Worry About Me Handling The Pain," I Say. "i’ve Had A Lot Of Practice.

In The Days That Follow, It's Movement, Not Stillness, That Helps To Keep The Grief At Bay.

I Was Angry With Him Before. I’m Not Really Sure Why. Maybe I Was Just Angry That The World Had Become Such A Complicated Place, That I Have Never Known Even A Fraction Of The Truth About It. Or That I Allowed Myself To Grieve For Someone Who Was Never Really Gone, The Same Way I Grieved For My Mother All The Years I Thought She Was Dead. Tricking Someone Into Grief Is One Of The Cruelest Tricks A Person Can Play, And It’s Been Played On Me Twice.

He Smiles In My Memory. A Curled Lip. Straight Teeth. Light In His Eyes. Laughing, Teasing, More Alive In Memory Than I M In Reality. It Was Him Or Me. I Chose Me. But I Feel Dead Too.

For Me, It Feels Like Driving From Truth Into A Lie, From Adulthood To Childhoold. I Watch The Land Of Pavement And Glass And Metal Turn Into An Empty Field. The Snow Is Falling Softly Now, And I Can Faintly See The City's Skyline Up Ahead, The Buildings Just A Shade Darker Than The Clouds.