acceptance ... nowhere near it.

I keep finding myself in moments of complete disbelief that J is forever gone. Forever (!) – it is such an unimaginable concept. Like the word infinite … or God.

I stand outside in the hazy morning sun, right where we always used to sip our freshly brewed coffees, smoking cigarettes together. I try to imagine what we would do today if he were still alive. He would probably have a consulting gig or meeting in the city somewhere, maybe he would get on Skype with his daughter later – she is going to turn seven in just a few days.  Maybe we would argue about something, or take a walk, or sleep with each other (a term that doesn’t do the passion of our sex-life any justice).

Then I am reminded that I would probably still be at my old job, which I would have never left had it not been for J’s death. I can’t see myself going back there but I am still in this PTSD type of state and I can’t think of anything with a straight mind. The daze, forgetfulness, and exhaustion aren’t as constant as they were in the first few weeks but it still gets to me how unfocused and unmotivated I am.

When I hear his music (or a song comes on that reminds me of him), I freeze. I don’t know what to do. On the one hand, I want to hear it because I think of him and his joy over this particular song; on the other hand, the familiar tunes combined with my nostalgic memory and the sobering reality of his death then make me so sad that I am often in tears.

Every time I drive by the building within which he lost his life, I consider moving to another part of town. Every thug-looking dude walking around those streets I stare down with judgmental hatred, for it could be him who left J to die.

I find myself helpless with flailing arms. Helpless. Helpless.

Helpless.