After getting back from my great grandmother’s funeral today, a new fear in my life has developed. That’s the fear of forgetting. You see, my great grandmother suffered from severe Alzheimer’s. She wouldn’t eat, she didn’t remember anyone, and most importantly she wasn’t happy. My grandfather who I love and care a lot for has mild dementia, and often finds himself lost and confused. This is what i’m scarred of. Forgetting my loved one’s, my memories, and even my own family.
Age is cruel.
This large burst of happiness is missing yet again, the word “miss” is a understatement. Need. That’s more accurate. 8 more days until I can pursue it again, and take it as my own. Love it unconditionally, and share the stories of my travels and hers. It’s a subtle rush you see. I miss her deeply, when she’s gone she’s gone. So soon, but so far away.
Take me to paradise.
Become a reflection of my thoughts.
Where do those emotions that I hide from my apathetic peers around me go? Does my heart consume them and add to my feelings? Or are they projected through the air like a baseball thrown from base-to-base. Love can be hidden, but it’s always growing, when you really found the right one. It grows and grows, for some it’s indestructible, but other aren’t so lucky, they have to deal with the rough patches. Finally, some have it ripped out from inside them, and stomped on the ground like a spider that startled you. Those are the unlucky ones.
Those are the broken.