i want so badly to have five minutes. five minutes, that's all i need. i need five minutes to hug her, to remember her voice, to inhale her smell, i want five minutes. five more minutes. if i had five minutes i don't think i'd ask her questions, i don't think i'd make her tell me what heavens like-i know she's there, i don't think i'd do anything but say i love you, and hug her, have her hold me, have her be there, for five minutes. i feel so guilty for spreading all this shitty energy, why can't i write about how her death inspires me, how i need to live a better life because of her, why don't i appreciate that i had her for nine years? i can't write about that because EVERY fucking day i have a smile on my face, every fucking day i tell people it's okay when they accidently ask if my mom's going to pick me up, every fucking day i tell my teachers i'm fine, every fucking day i put on an act, and i need somewhere to write about the feelings i don't know about. when i'm writing my finger tips move and i read what comes up, usually suprised. i click new post and i don't know what the post is going to contain. my posts are all over the place, because my mind trys to start burying those raw emotions, patching up that hole. i need to rip off the patches, i need to feel the fucking raw shit, i need to. but i'm too scared. i'm too scared of going back to that dark place, i don't want to, whatever way i can to prevent it, i'm doing. i know talking about how i feel is good, i know crying is good, i just don't want her death to consume me all the time. sometimes i get through a day without even thinking about her, and that's what hurts, she's not in my life. she's not something i need to get through the day. and that hurts. she's suppose to be here, she's suppose to be a vidal person in my life, and she's not. i want five minutes.
