It is such an effort of will sometimes.
To remember that we will be together again.
In a place past the tears.
It is easier.
It is irresistable, sometimes.
To just long for my mom.
Who knew me like nobody else knows me.
Sometimes I fear that
There is a statuate of limitations on loss.
In everybodys head.
And my hurting, now. It is such bad form.
They didn’t tell me.
Maybe they didn’t know.
The ways it gets worse. Harder.
I never thought that pictures and keepsakes
would catalyze memories growing stale already
after these few months.
How do the memories fade
but not this hurt?