the harder they come, the harder they fall.

its very difficult now, as a 22 year old, to explain the loss i felt at seven for a sibling i had never even met. and its awkward how that feeling of loss stretched out over the years, not as painful, but ever present. so many times since it happened, i see the four of us, and imagine that there should be one more. and almost every year i try to remember how old it would be. and try to imagine what would be different. what sort of person it would be like. how much i would fight with it. how much cooler would i be with it. how much closer or further apart mom and dad would be. would it be musical. or dyslexic. or quiet like me. or noisy like him.

sometimes im so curious it makes me happy. sometimes im so curious it makes me very sad.

its quite easy to say c'est la vie. but while it might be true, its a difficult truth to swallow, because it so damn simple, and Nothing about loss is ever that simple.

are we better people because of our pain? does our pain help us grow?

it doesn't matter.

it doesn't.

these things are not to be forgotten. sure, you pick your bags up and begin moving on at some point. but these are not things to be forgotten. the pain isn't supposed to go away. there is nothing to learn, nothing you receive.

the loss of love at any point of life, will always crush you in the most tender places.

and i dont mind it.

i dont want to forget.

(for a certain woman i dont know well enough)