Journal Entry no. 6
Time. Always so much of it, but never enough. Never enough. And I know it's the natural cycle of things, to live and to die - to lose. But it doesn't make it any less difficult, feeling helpless as time rushes past me in a silent blur, slipping through my frail human fingers as I reach out and try to hold it. But I cannot stop it. And it is gone. Just like you.
Time is just something by which we experience this life by, isn't it? And what if everything is happening, all the time, all at once? Then maybe you are out there, somewhere, sometime. Alive.
Sometimes I can feel you like you never left. Like you'll be waiting for me excitedly behind the door when I come in. Like you'll crawl into my lap when I sit down. Like you'll burrow into the blankets of the bed every chance you get. But I know it isn't true and occasionally I notice the blatant emptiness you left behind.
It helps to think of you. To hold the little plushie that looks like you. To whisper goodnight to the ashes of you I have by the bedside. It's the little things like that that bring me comfort, the reminders I have for myself that you were here, once.
As it nears what would have been your 16th birthday, I can't help but feel a little sad. Journaling helps and I guess that's why I'm writing this now. And it makes me feel better to talk about you sometimes, to remember the happy memories of us - of you.
Still, I think I'll hold the plushie a little closer these next few nights and reflect upon the time I was lucky enough to have with you.
2•14•2008-3•2•2023 🐾
