thinks

To get to the point when you are fresh out of love is a humbling experience, indeed. It is a bizarre feeling to reach a point where you can not conjure up compassion for the things that you cared about the most, the beings that were a lot of times why it was worth getting out of bed in the morning.

Change is something seems to be the most inconvenient happening in the world sometimes, although it is the only thing that can be relied upon.

I realize that life is still tough, still raw. No matter how much I fake it. I miss my dad a lot, a fact that brings unconscious shame. When my mood is affected I get frustrated that my thoughts are still dipped in grief, and that this emotion drips all over my intentions. Like a cobweb on my face, that is how it feels to grieve. You would like to believe you removed it in one motion, but oftentimes, usually at the worst times, it interrupts your well-being until you tend to it, swiping at it and often failing.

My whole family is swimming in this quicksand that sometimes disguises itself as solid ground, and I see that it takes a conscious effort to realize that we are not the only ones treading this elusive medium. We are learning how to bond together to float successfully, but it is difficult to become a pentagon thinker when you are so used to thinking hexagonally....we miss our corner. Our rock. Our anchor.

Our dad.