One of the most difficult things about seeing my family so rarely is that when I do see them it’s all rapid-fire-make-the-most-of-it. I miss the quiet moments where everything is simple and natural and you can simply coexist. Being in one room, knowing they’re right down the hall.
Then there are the pangs of guilt that, like a few glasses of wine, bring forth a veritable thunderstorm of sappy words. There’s too much love and gratitude to ever possibly convey; the sheer pressure is too much, and I end up saying nothing. So I gather up all those feelings and shut them away into the same place where I keep my feelings about my dog who now lives with my father.
Everyone’s fucked up by something, and I’m very fortunate to be plagued by thoughts of love and loss, rather than abuse or abandonment. I’m just so scared of a world without any of them. Completely, occasionally cripplingly, super duper terrified.
