You are not here.
Haven’t been for nearly 20 years.
You sleep forever, six feet under frozen ground.
Somehow I still need to adjust when I come here. It still stings and make my heart sore. I’ve always felt everything so hardcore. This place, it used to feel like home. Now it’s just like every other place, it’s just another place I don’t belong.
It’s such a lonely, lonely life.
Is it lonely in death too?
Forgive me, sometimes I wish I was there with you.
It’s so hard, being human.
Or maybe it’s just me, always making every little thing so damn complicated.
I don’t know why, but nothing did ever come easy for me. Life always seemed so bloody serious. To me and you, it was. To me, it still is. You are safe in death now, I try to think of it like that. It’s just so hard to live without the only real thing I ever had. Everything and everyone seems to drift further away from me.
Dealing with feelings that grow so intense it feels like I’m bleeding under paper-thin skin. I just have to go to sleep sometimes so I can catch a break. When it hurts more than I am able to take. I close my eyes and pretend I’m dead. Forgive me, but it seems to me that is the only way to escape from my head.
It’s a lonely, lonely life. What I’d give to understand the way I’m wired. Or comprehend why I sometimes completely have to break down. I make myself so very tired. You taught me how to swim, daddy, yet all I do is drown.
It gets so damn dark in my head at times. There are times when I can’t even see a ray of light. It seems everyone else has figured it out, somehow: Something or someone that makes it worth it, being alive.
It’s a lonely, lonely life. My wounded heart never fully seems to recover. I write these words you’ll never hear. But to you, at least the pain is over.
