Death leaves you empty.
When she’s still alive it’s a different pain. Indeed it’s like somebody’s clutching your heart, squeezing it. You can feel it bleeding. And with every passing hour it gets worse and worse, it always will. Until finally you manage to fall asleep, just to wake up a couple of hours later.
Ok, a year later, once again I can’t eat potatoes. And that means a lot as I’m the-one-who-lives for-potatoes.
The pain is so strong that the choice to cling to the first reason I got to call her was far to easy to make.
And I just realized I’m actually clutching my chest occasionally.
