Why

I’m not angry. I’m not even sad anymore. I am simply riddled with invisible bruises, like how a long ago broken arm twinges before a storm.

Why were you so cruel? Were you insecure, not ready to have a child, blaming yourself for my faults, real and imagined? I stand by your grave like standing by the ocean, by a sunset, in front of something too great, too imaginary to really understand.

I should leave flowers, a prayer. I can’t, not yet, I don’t know why. Goodbye.

w

3 days to go! I’m now way behind on everything but that’s okay. Peace and blessings!

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