I wrote the list, thinking it would somehow put things into perspective. but no. days went by. I tried hard to distance myself but the only thing I accomplished was to lose words in the process. I wrote a lot but most of it wasn’t for ‘me’. I kept pushing the emotions into a bottle, pretending none of it exists. and then it blew up right in my face. I turned twenty one on a beautiful sunday afternoon surrounded by people who matter. for a moment it became important to be aware of how good it is to be alive. because I was truly grateful. reality. something. I tried to forget about it but couldn’t. another elephant in the room. this time it’s mine only. I am slowly getting used to it even though I probably shouldn’t. I shouldn’t get used to any of this actually.
I put his music onto my disc, hoping it would somehow compensate for the fact that I barely spend any time with the family. the little one is growing so fast. every time I see her, she looks different. I don’t know why I feel like I am missing out on something. they’re not even my people. they’re not even what I want. most of the time. beautiful nights of peaceful sleep during thunderstorms were replaced with a couple of sleepless ones. short term insomnia made a comeback after an emotional meltdown at the most inappropriate moment. it all came back with a single touch and I couldn’t stop thinking. silent panic attack. my brain working thousand miles an hour. memories have turned into a blur; there’s no point in dealing with it now. I can only hope it will go away on its own. I miss those careless nights spent around the gold buddha figurines and plastic cups filled with cheap Chinese liquor. I miss not caring. I miss the illusion of having forgotten.
I stopped writing letters after the night of momentous consequences that were symbolically marked by buena vista social club and the single tennis ball on the floor. I am not sure whom to write the letters to.
I want to be sure.