Schlagwort: my writing

Sometimes I still think this cannot have been real. His death still seems surreal to me.

He would have turned 24 now. He died at 20, as the oldest one of us at that time. Now I am 21.

Now I am 21 and I am showing interests that he had and that I admired and I am not ever even thinking about becoming like him even though objectively it feels like I am sometimes, such as in this very moment, and that becoming of mine makes us, his aunt and his mother and me, all grow.

(Writing this feels like this is the most disrespectful opinion I have ever had about my family, and I hate myself for parts of this.)

It still does not feel real. He is just gone for a while, studying abroad, I tell myself sometimes, and sometimes it feels like that, but then other times it feels like he has simply never been there, here, with me. My memory of him feels like it’s fading. His voice is still there in my mind, but how we interacted… I do not remember much of it. I just remember looking up to him, aching for his approval, but I did not even know him.

His connection to everyone else is so real to me, but his connection to me has never felt like it existed at all.

Now an interest in films and TV shows and Fall Out Boy feel like his legacy to me, which they are really not, they are mine now, became mine individually, and I still cannot understand it all.