I have found myself a home

- 018

I haven't really talked about it for a long time now about what's really going on and what I am crying about. There are just instances where I want to cry it out but never talk about it. Let me find the comfort in your arm to let my soul be, but I will not talk about it because I just can't seem to find the right words to vocalize it. How do you vocalize emptiness? How do you vocalize the raging emptiness? How do I talk about what I truly felt about my Father's death? I can't make a form out of my grief so I can't talk about it because I don't know how to talk about it. How do I explain something like this to another person? That no matter how much I talk about it, it just feels the same. It makes a difference, yet I still feel like getting tangled up over something I couldn't control. I just don't know what number I should put to explain the weight of my grief. I don't know how to talk about the empty corners and small anticipations of maybe I am dreaming and this is not the life I am living. There's just so many things that scare me. I am not afraid of ghosts but I am so afraid of living and existing. And I crawl over to my pillow to find the comfort I felt a few years ago, but even sleeping worries me. I am afraid of everything now, I don't have time to cry anymore. But if there's just a time where I could sit in silence with my grief, and make a form out of it despite not being able to vocalize it— maybe I can talk about how deafening it is to be the one anticipating, for something never happening.