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People cannot bear to think there are channels of human experience that are closed off to them, that they’ll never know.
The only thing that came close to capturing what life felt like with you dead was that a part of my physical body was gone now. Lopped off.
Your grave turned into a bookmark we couldn’t get past. That we kept going back to. You.
When you died I mourned you, but also the version of myself I was with you. So there were two deaths.
I don’t want it to be that what I believe is what matters most. I want the truth, without a brain to skew it, without eyes to filter it.
