Talking

One day one of the therapists told me they wanted me to write a goodbye letter to him. Maybe she didn't say goodbye, but I think that was the goal of it, to take another step in closure or resolution. The thought of it makes my chest hurt, makes me pain, makes me tighten up. Tuesday I was at their home, a vacation day. For the third time in as many days I went to the cemetery. I told him I don't know what I believe. But I know the things that made you great are not here. But I can't keep doing this. I can't keep crying like this. I have to stop it. I will miss you I think all my life. I think I will miss you until I lay down here myself. But I can't keep doing this. But I'm doing it still.