Eight years since she left, just about now, and this time it catches me in the middle of something that doesn’t quite let me mope and whimper around as much as I’d feel like. After another break, spanning the past three days, I even went back to the usual protest location for a while this evening, though I whimpered on the way, kept thinking I really shouldn’t be out at this time and, albeit in part also due to the fact that I was among people again, was about to sit down on the pavement and break down completely by the time I got back. Probably shouldn’t be trying to add something more to my story tonight either, after I’ll write this, but I didn’t do so earlier today, so I’ll have to, even if it’ll only be a quick paragraph and not mark the end of this chapter, which I at some point hoped I’ll finish no later than tonight.
I’m guessing this will be something of a delayed impact, hitting me even harder than it normally would, which is saying something, next week. The fact that I just happened to stumble upon some more things these days, quite by accident, definitely isn’t helping either. It may come to something later, or it may spell disaster, or it may simply be yet another thing to worry about and be worn down by; I have no idea at the moment and tonight I can’t even think about it. In a week or two, I’ll see if there’s anything left of me to deal with this as well.
I guess that’s it for now. If this would be a regular personal post, there would be more to say, but I’m not mixing anything else with this. Even if, from the point of view of our relationship and that of my reasons to still keep some hope alive, other days were clearly more important, from the point of view of its direct impact, both at the time and as a memory… It’s the day I died.