Fuck It

The storm felt pretty perfect this morning.

Fuck it. I’m going to say the things you’re not supposed to say because I feel like you’d appreciate that.

I’m pissed off at you. Right now. This moment. My guts are churning with a fire that’s more familiar than it should be and the worst of it is, you know why.

Here’s the thing of it though, doesn’t matter that I’m pissed. The feelings never mattered for long, we kept going even if it was just to prove someone else wrong or prove to ourselves that we could.

I wrote this of Aaron this year but it’ll remain just as true for you now – The stages of grief are bullshit. You’ll feel every one of them on and off from day to day, month to month, year to year. Monday I might accept you’re gone, Tuesday’s denial and Wednesday too, Thursday I’ll be angry at you and Friday I’m back in shock. Well, it is Thursday as I’m writing this so look at that, I’m a little clairvoyant after all.

All that matters and will remain is this: You were my person. You are my person. You will always be my person.

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