Everything is seen through the lens of this blasted situation.
Every memory is tainted with an oh-shit thats-why face-palm moment of realizing why things were the way they were, why he was the way he was.
For the longest time he wouldn’t take me up on my offer to go places.
I would ask him to go somewhere to eat, and he would think twice about going.
He’s always so grouchy. Like, always on the edge of being full on mad at me for the slightest reason.
The way he looks at me now, it has been that way for months. Even before the very-bad-thing that happened. Like he’s thinking about something else.
Or more likely, of someone else.
I trusted him completely.
And I had full confidence (of who God is, of who I am, etc).
I said before that I can’t wait to get to numb.
Now I’m here, and there’s still a dull ache.
My world has gotten smaller (my room, my house). But at the same time there’s so much space.
Space space space.
Still can’t breathe. Still can’t move.
