“It fucks with me, Anjo. I hear her voice calling me from her bedroom, knowing that she’s not there no more. She hasn’t been there in some time, and she’ll never be there again. The crayon mark near the kitchen, I can’t even bring myself to clean it because it’s her… it reminds me of her. How can I move on when I still have Cherie’s perfume and skincare on her side of the sink?” The more he spoke, the more tears fell down his face.
i feel like he should some grief counseling.
