where the writers are
momma part 2

i wouldn’t want to know how it happened. or why.

i can still conjure a vivid image of your face laughing on that bed, one of the happier moments of a life where all roads were uphill, the days not enough for all the work to be done, the nights too short for all the worries to think about. in my mind’s eye, i can still  see the sincere happiness emanating from within you, illuminating our miserable room with hope.

then you died and most parts of me died too and though i continue to breath, i am a walking dead man, a mere shadow of who i used to be.

have i’d known that you would be gone the next day, i would have freeze that moment in my mind. i would have savor the final moments that we were together. i would have stayed awake. i would have stayed with you.

but i have not, and you are long dead and i have lived too long and how i wanted to drop dead any second and leave this miserable world that i have failed to understand and has failed to understand me.

one moment i was tucked safely in bed with the foreknowledge that someone is watching over me, then with just a flutter of the eyelids, i was plunged into a helter-skelter world, fighting for control of a life that is without direction.

i wanted to blame you for leaving me. i wanted to blame you for i have no one else to blame, not even you. but you are too dead and i am too alive and i still could not believe that you are gone forever and i could not really care why.

i’m so alone.

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