Corey
Death.
Die.
Dead.
They’re such strange words, aren’t they? So finale.
Passed away.
Gone.
Didn’t make it.
Are these words better? Less harsh?
Or maybe,
they’re worse?
Because it feels like a cover up,
doesn’t it?
Like those words might mean something different then they actually do.
Your brain does funny things when faced with death. It doesn’t let you think about it too much. It starts to compartmentalize. Sometimes to the point where you don’t feel it all. And it builds up
and up
and then it starts to leak…
and eventually it lets you feel it in waves.
Big waves.
Very close together.
I can’t think about you too intensely because my heart can’t take it. My mind can’t rationalize it. I can’t stop and let it sink in that you’re dead. That I’ll never tell you, I love you, again.
That part
really,
Fucks me up.
I should have loved you more. Deeper. Longer. More frequently. And I can’t think about that too intensely because,
That part
really,
Fucks me up.
We’re pretty privileged to be able to stand under an endless stream of clean hot water and just think.
How great would it be to see a top 10 highlight of the times you laughed the hardest and their situations.
