Her

I miss her.

There are times when I am reminded of her brown eyes and the way they sparkled through her eyelids. I cannot, not in my senses, give it a recap, her memories that she left, because it scares me somehow. What is the point behind this mystery when you suddenly leave from people’s lives?

Why, I mean. Her name, it lingers over the top of every happy occasion as well as a normal gathering in her absence. The traces that she has left behind, without intending to, are the ones that haunt me and they do it really well. I don’t know why I’m writing about it here, where I’m letting strangers read this. But it takes me back to the fact that I know no reason, no conscience and no logic whatsoever when it comes to grief. Grief of hers.

I fear it and knowing that I fear restricts me from going in that direction. No matter who disappears and leaves the room, I am haunted by her leaving. The way she walked out. Left. Let go of me. I know grief is best justified when expressed freely and not when you hold it back. But it makes no sense in this case. It’s not about my willingness. Grief is grief. A silent grief is more harmful and I believe it now. It shakes me off furiously yet gives me temporary pills of control.

I lie here waiting. Waiting in anticipation. Ghosts are dangerous, they have huge black wings and they don’t use it to fly but to cover the innocent with their anxiety.

I feel lost. Grief should be let out. Really?

‘Not today, dear. Maybe tomorrow.’ Every day.