Blaine Sousa:
A man who doesn't care about others opinions.
Cassandra Harper:
A woman who cares a little too much about what people think of her.
When a turn of events brings two strangers together once more it could be lethal, especially in his lin...
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I hate this day, I hate it with a passion. Each year as the date nears I dread it.
Yes, the pain of losing someone you love lessens overtime and maybe when you look back a the times you've shared the happiness and nostalgia can outweigh the grief but the grief is always there.
Grief comes in all forms, all shapes and sizes. It shows up in even the happiest times when you realise that the person you love can't be there to see them. When you think about all the things they'll never get to see. All the milestones you thought were a given. Gone, just like that.
It hurts to think about what they could've accomplished if only given the chance.
Four years ago today I got a call, the call.
My life hasn't been the same ever since. It's been clouded in grief that I just can't seem to shake.
Most people take their siblings for granted, something I too am guilty of. I regret it everyday. Although I told him I loved him as he said goodnight to me every single night, he'll never know just how much. How much I adored him, looked up to him.
Four years ago today my brother Sidney died.
It hurts every single day but today is the most torturous of all. It's a reminder of everything that he lost. Everything that I lost.
I don't want to leave my bed. I don't want to do anything today but I feel as though I should do something to honor him....somehow.
I don't really want to talk about it. My natural response is to keep things bottled up. On the other hand, maybe it would do me some good to finally tell someone. To feel as though I'm keeping his memory alive.
In the end, I decide to talk about it, I just need a bit more alone time first.
I leave the house alone and walk to the cemetery where my brother is buried. I've only been here a handful of times and each time I've sobbed my heart out. I don't want anyone to be around. I want to be able to speak to the air in the hopes that he'll hear without feeling stupid because someone's watching me. I need to cry and I just can't hold it in out of fear of what people may think.
I spend a good few hours talking, my words being carried off into the wind. I have a raging headache from relentlessly sobbing.
"I don't know if you can hear me." I say placing my hand on his tombstone that's marked with his name, Sidney Marshall. "But if you can, you should know that I love you."
As I walk home it begins raining heavily without warning. I'd normally run for shelter but I'm just so exhausted I can't find it in myself to care.
I let the rain come pouring down, let it wash over me, ground me to the present. The rain feels like a metaphor of me drowning, in grief, in self loathing. For some strange reason it makes me feel seen. All the negative feelings are still there but it feels like I can finally breathe.
