Monday, June 13, 2011



I don't know how it works, I'm not a dates person. I don't get sadder on the anniversary of anyone I know who's died. I don't approach their birthdays with trepidation, nor do I think of good times spent together and lose my shit

This is different, and while it DOES get better with time, this weirdass dates thing I've got going on, doesn't.

June 13, August 1st, pretty much all of February through to March, then there's November 11, December 1st, and August 4th.

They all creep up on me and punch me in the face, and without fail, I'm left wondering WHY those motherfuckers are trying to kill me.

Then I go "Ah [insert month here], I wonder if it's [insert specific date here]" and then it all makes sense.

Conception dates, dates of loss, due dates.

Time doesn't heal. What happens is the gaping hole in your heart becomes a part of who you are.

I still haven't worked out if that's a real downer or whether it's a simple statement of fact.

2005-2007© aibee