Small Thoughts

Sometimes I pretend it doesn’t suck. That it doesn’t gut me. That it doesn’t hurt.

I pretend that I’m unaware of how many days have passed. Or how old he’d be. Or what he’d be doing right now.

I see what could be, what is, what’s missing. He should be here. He should be part of this.

But he’s not.

I fade out of the moment and into the alternate. I feel small. I try not to let the pain in my heart pour out onto my face.

It’s the mother of all losses. The one you can’t talk about. The one no one has the guts to ask you about. They want to. But they can’t.

It’s okay to talk to me. It’s okay to wonder and to ask. I want you to ask. I want you to say, here I am, even if I don’t say anything at all.

It’s lonely here.

It’s scary here.

I smile, and I long, and I ache, and I look forward. And I can’t see what’s in front of me.