I refused to see her face yesterday. Almost collapsed trying to hold in the trauma all of us were facing yet completely refused to see her face. I wanted to remember her squealing in the middle of Habitt a couple of weeks ago where we planned a picnic in the Oont vala park and ask Domino's to deliver there. Old joke. Mad. Just like us.
I am crumbling inside, numb outside, forlorn all over. I built up courage by the end of the day we buried her and collapsed this morning again.
If there's one big take away I can attribute to her, it's celebrating imperfection. She made me accept the fact that being less than perfect is alright. The hard rock shell of perfection I touted for some 30 years of my life, she was the first one to crack it just enough to hinge a crow bar in there.
My mind is a mad rush with her fierce arguments, child like squeals, bright laughter, her voice. It keeps going around in my head like clockwork.
I have not yet reached the stage where I can mourn a rather macro persona of hers and what she meant for the city or country or how she had to go. My selfishness knows no bounds when all I can think is I'll never see her again, she'll never give me that bone crushing hug again, she'll never kiss me like a kitten that always made me feel like I was five years old, she'll never hate me for things she disagreed with me upon for once you're on the other side, the view is much clearer (or so it is advertised).
Sab, I still feel like I can come see you whenever I want. Just want to hold on to that thought for a while longer...
I am crumbling inside, numb outside, forlorn all over. I built up courage by the end of the day we buried her and collapsed this morning again.
If there's one big take away I can attribute to her, it's celebrating imperfection. She made me accept the fact that being less than perfect is alright. The hard rock shell of perfection I touted for some 30 years of my life, she was the first one to crack it just enough to hinge a crow bar in there.
My mind is a mad rush with her fierce arguments, child like squeals, bright laughter, her voice. It keeps going around in my head like clockwork.
I have not yet reached the stage where I can mourn a rather macro persona of hers and what she meant for the city or country or how she had to go. My selfishness knows no bounds when all I can think is I'll never see her again, she'll never give me that bone crushing hug again, she'll never kiss me like a kitten that always made me feel like I was five years old, she'll never hate me for things she disagreed with me upon for once you're on the other side, the view is much clearer (or so it is advertised).
Sab, I still feel like I can come see you whenever I want. Just want to hold on to that thought for a while longer...
No comments:
Post a Comment
Every snowflake yearns to touch the ground, to melt, to change it's state, be something it isn't yet, whether it's water, ice or a snowball. Change is but a constant. Keep Commenting...let me know what you think.
Cheers