Alison’s been gone seven years

Alison died exactly seven years ago. I’ve always wished it was me and not her.

How is that even possible?

New York’s a strange place.

The kid and I were walking up Broadway the other day and someone dropped an entire jar of pickles on the ground and no one batted an eye.

Everywhere I look, things are a mess or broken.

Everything is chaos and atrophy.

Or, at least, I’m noticing it more these days.

Probably because I’m a broken mess and my mind is all chaos and atrophy.

Alison died exactly seven years ago.

How is that even fucking possible?

Me: I realized something the other day: I may live another 40, 50 years. All that time without Alison.
Therapist: And how does that make you feel?
Me: (thinking) Pretty empty. Then again, these past seven years seemed to dash by.
Her: (at the end of the session) Are you ok?
Me: Yeah. It’s fine. I cry all the time.
Her: This is the first time you’ve cried in one of our sessions.
Me: Is that right? Well, I cry all the time. (shaking head) These years have gone by so fast.

Suppose life will be over before I know it.

It’s hurts to know that I’m gonna end up being an old man one day, and she never got that chance.

I’ve always wished it was me and not her.

Think I always will.

Editor note: I’ll be taking a mental health day for Sunday/Monday, so I’ll post again on Tuesday night.

Location: Stuck in my head again
Mood: heartbroken
Music: It was a big-big world, but we thought we were bigger (Spotify)
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