that far away
my grandpa died. even now as i write that it seems so unreal. maybe i'm still in shock. it doesn't matter that my memories of him exist in terms of hospital beds and nursing homes and watching his frail body become thinner. doesn't matter that the only words i can remember him speaking are incoherent phrases. he's gone. death is so permanent, to earthly eyes at least. and he's not there anymore, not breathing the same air that i do, not waiting for me to come visit. there's a void left in his place and i can't fill it.they're talking again, about hospitals. timberlawn -- that's in dallas, four hours from here. lyne said that they specialize in helping people deal with self-mutilation. God, please no more hospitals. i can't do that anymore. and yet i'd go in a split second if i thought it would actually help.
someone please put the world on hold for a minute. everything moves without me and i'm feeling so lost, so small and afraid. no one knows how to help me and it hurts. this is your life. no trading it back, no getting a new one. this is it. and it's ok; i'll live every minute of it.