So, I’m sorry if I bleed on you. It isn’t intentional. Just give me a minute to get cleaned up.

I look forward to the day my grief is just an old scar. A reminder of a pain I remember, but no longer feel so viscerally.

No wounds, no scabs, just memories.

It’s almost harder than when it was a raw wound because it needs to breathe. It can’t stay covered. I had to go back to work, get back in the world.

But if you bump that scab even a little bit it will start to bleed. 2/