The eve of my departure. How do I feel, I was asked. I do not feel. I feel perhaps too little or too much that I cannot put into words how I really feel. Emptiness is the closest feeling. A gaping hole. Lacking meaning, lacking purpose. A frustrating lack of ability to describe my emotions and feelings. I had a way with words before. That gift (if it were really so...) is now lost, just like the so many dear things and people I have lost. What do I have? I have these words I cannot express. I have these feelings I cannot eject. I have this gut wrenching loneliness and void I cannot part with.
This trip was supposed to bring me closure. Maybe I expected too much, maybe the resolution and healing is yet to really follow. How can you really piece together all that has happened and try to put into words how significant this trip has been when you are moving from bed to bed every other day? How can you really let the dust settle and coherent thoughts come together when every other moment, every other person you encounter, confronts you with memories of the loved ones who have gone?
Mum and dad's shadows and memories are all over the place. This city is filled with reminders of those sweet days of my childhood, those talks and walks I shared with my late parents, those caring moments at the hospital and tender and intimate memories I shared with someone who has become so terribly estranged.
I am tired, really really tired... I wish I could just lie down and close my eyes and never wake up.
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