The truth is, I hardly write anymore.
I could if I tried hard enough or maybe if I cared enough to try.
But that’s it. I don’t care anymore. I don’t care about turning the truth into some pretty little paragraph that will get people minds working. I don’t care enough to put time an effort in, to type, backspace and type again.
It’s too hard to make something so horrible, beautiful.
I write about what’s on my mind, and all that is on my mind these days is my mum.
How can I turn my sorrow into word of beauty, that make you feel for me. How can I turn my thoughts, my tears – into something worth reading?
I’m scared, and that is just my reality right now.
It all came too fast. Everything got better – she got better.
Then everything got worse.
I’m scared. I am fucking scared.
I love her. He loves her. We all love her. And soon there will only be a memory left to love.