Grief

Again, the sunlight woke me up.

For several days since my discharge, I’ve been trying to avoid thoughts of my failed attempts at making my mom proud – failed courses, unfinished projects, rejected applications. The pill I took last night was supposed to force longer sleep and numbness, however, even that attempt was unsuccessful.

The sunlight was blinding, but the warmth comforting. My mind and dust were scattered, and only the room was completely silent. I closed my eyes again and waited, longing for a familiar voice.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. There’s always another day,” mom used to say until the crash. Words, because of my arrogance, could never say back.