It means spending endless hours thinking about the whys and what ifs.
It means spending your day trying to balance the wish to feel and act normal and failing. Every few hours.
It means learning that grief is not a tide of emotions that would sweep you off your feet and knock you out. Instead, it’s that constant dull ache in the pit of your stomach that you slowly start learning to live with.
It means squeezing your eyes shut and trying to remember all the little details, the conversations and his voice, his smile and getting hit by an overwhelming want to cry until there is nothing left to cry about, knowing you will never hear his voice again.
It means realizing how wrong you were to think you knew heartbreak.
It means feeling defenseless and small. And mortal.
It means learning to balance your life between numb and normal.
It means wanting to punch something every time some one says, “you’ll be fine.”
It means losing that one person who would always have time for you no matter how busy the world got.
It means losing someone who would trust you when you least deserve it. Love you selflessly and serve you unconditionally, without expecting anything in return, not even love.
It means learning that few voids are never filled.
It means feeling sad and angry. And then sad again.
It means losing that one person, that one man who would have never left your side willingly, who would have never hurt you, who would stand in your way to keep any harm from touching you.
It means losing that one smile that came out without fail, every time you were happy.
It means regrets. And wishing you had said ‘i love you’ to him more often.
It means trying to believe in afterlife. For the sake of holding on.
It means letting go when you didn’t want to, no matter how hard you tried to hold on.
Above all it means realizing how much you loved him and more over, just how much he loved you. And that the world would never be the same without him. Ever.