the blog

I opened my eyes, half way, like every morning; I could hear the roller coaster and faint screams, it was joy, right?!?   It sounded like joy.   And I could see curious beams of sunlight sneaking into my room through the curtains that I failed to adjust properly at bedtime the night before; the night before you left me, the night I wasn't thinking about you. Why wasn't I thinking about you? ...Why wasn’t I imagining your laugh, oh that laugh was contagious.   I write this to say goodbye. I write this to say thank you. Oh yes, I was telling you about the morning: back to that morning. Come with me back to that black morning – mourning …   the sounds were masquerading as joy, but they had fooled me—I opened my eyes—not to joy, not to beams of light, but thousands of painful stings like pricks of a million bees feasting on my heart, it was awful. I guess we have a choice of what we want to feel, believe, and focus on. I know what you’d want me to choose. It’s just really