Next year

Every year I think, “Maybe next year it will be different, maybe next year I’ll finally forget”, but eventually May rolls in, quickly followed by June, and little by little the darkness starts to crawl back out. A constant reminder hovering over my head about how ephemeral and meaningless life is.

It’s not like I want to forget her, not even close, I just don’t want to be reminded of that day. The day everything changed.

Every year I think it will be the last time I’ll write about it, that I finally used up all the words to try to make sense of what doesn’t make sense at all, apparently I am wrong…