I wonder what it’s like to go through the death of a loved one. A lifelong friend, a sibling, a parent, a lover. One day here, the next gone. Maybe there were warning signs, maybe there were none. All the same, nothing could have prepared you for what lay ahead.
No one could’ve prepared you for those sleepless nights that feel like an enternity; when you lay in bed and your body craves the comfort of a blanket yet your heart repels any source of warmth.
No one could’ve warned you that the sun won’t shine as bright to your eyes.
No one could’ve informed you of the gaping wound inside your chest that refuses to heal and throbs everytime someone believes they can stitch it up.
No one could’ve prepared you for the surge of memories that ambush your waking thoughts and consume your sleeping conscious, leaving you dazed and lost at every turn.
Yet, you wouldn’t have believed anyone if they told you your eyes could withstand more floods and tsunamis than the highest mountain peak.
You would’ve scoffed if someone described the day you’ll be able to feel the sunlight radiating on your skin again.
You wouldn’t have believed the person that told you you’ll love flowers again.
You wouldn’t have imagined listening to certain songs without anxiety or fear.
No. You would've thrown a bitter look when they tell you it gets better, and you would've kept walking ahead.
Yet, eventually, someday far into the future, you’ll count the steps you’ve taken and realize how far you’ve come. You’ll take note of the miles you have walked and acknowledge the miles you have yet to overcome, and you’ll realize that it does not necessarily get easier, you simply become better.