It has been two years, seven months, three weeks, two days, ten hours, six minutes and counting, since that event. I have been meaning not to count, but it has become a habit I cannot get rid of. It is always present in my mind, my subconscious doing the math and sometimes it surprises me that I can do other things yet keep track of the time.
I have not told the others. They would not understand. They would think it was a problem, which could be fixed. However, I knew it was not. They would just send me to a therapist and sign me up for counseling classes. I did not have time for that.
I did not have time for anything, actually.
Everything felt meaningless.
Everything felt lost.
Maybe I could not get over the loss, maybe I did not know how to cope or maybe I just did not want to get the cold piercing reality to catch up with me. It felt safer to be living in the past. It felt better.
I could pretend that nothing happened; I could pretend that everything was all right and I could pretend that he was still here, laughing, teasing, and joking at the things around him.
He was like the sun. Warm like its heat, and always there even if he was not around, just like the sun when the moon overpowered the night. He was alive like the sun.
Now, he is not.
He never will be again.
That was a problem.
A problem, which no matter how much anyone tried, could not be fixed.530Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRq8X7IV8qo
