It was the first time I let myself cry. Not just cry. Bawl my eyes out until my body did not shake anymore and my heart slowed it’s frantic beating. I cried until my soul paled behind an empty grey sky and my eyes reeled. I could not cry every day. Could not - would not. I had too much image to maintain and too many watchful eyes upon my frail, lackluster frame. Too much had changed. How could they not watch?
How could I explain that every morning I had to re-program my brain not to miss him. That I had to pretend I never met him…that I was not forever changed by his existence. That the only way to move forward (as illogical as it was) was to pretend he died. Because death was better than what had really happened. Not better - but actually the same. I missed every part of him in every moment I breathed. I could not shake the memories that haunted my every step. I missed him excruciatingly. To the point that my physical body mirrored it’s internal loss. I could not regain what I had lost.