A year this coming week

Looking at pictures I shouldn't.

Listening to 'our' music for the first time since you died.

Oh my god.

Can't.

Bent double in unbelievable pain still.

Ridiculous amount of tears.

All the rest feels as pretense.

I've learned to build walls and distract.

How to cry easily and then move on with the day.

Haven't learned to listen to music again.

Hollow.

Nothing real except my sons.

Left behind.

I know there's no 'why'

but I want to ask for the why.

Though I know I don't deserve to know.

So.

Why?

Always alone. Again. Still.

Je t'aimais, je t'aime et je t'aimerais.

Toujours.