11 Im Sorry. (1/2)

JS: ”Hey, did you read the updates to XX?”

AG :”Yeah, not really a fan of the cliffhanger ending though.”

JS: ”ikr!

”the way the author betrayed me just at the end was just wrong!”

AG :”But you're still going to wait for the next update?”

JS: ”Naturally”

Monday, March 23, 2015

She is constantly talking.

Find authorized novels in Webnovel，faster updates, better experience，Please click for visiting.

The one I met online wasn't Jasmine, but someone else.

Obviously, She just shares a name with someone I once knew.

But lately I feel sort of glad that she shares the same name as Jasmine.

Just so I make myself clear, she will, not now or ever replace her.

She is her own person and nothing like the Jasmine I once knew.

There's never a end to her chatter.

About her favorite webtoons, to her photography idols, Ansel Adams and Ben Murphy. Her a.r.s.enal of seemingly useless information is endless.

Somehow, I can feel her overly-positive energy through the screen.

It's a strange change from the way things were for the past year.

But the strangest part is that I enjoy the company she gives me over the internet.

I can count on her being there almost 24/7. Talking like we're old friends.

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

4:30 a.m.

I woke up with a start, as a dream that constantly plagues me wakes me up once again. I feel claustrophobic and panicky. I was buried alive. The coffin I was trapped in was hot and hard to breath in, as earthworms and centipedes bore into my skin. Eating me from the inside out.

I've had this dream since the day I watched Jasmine as she was put six feet under.

My dream was from her perspective.

I think of the conversation I had with Dr. Mel yesterday. He told me that I was ”getting over the hurdles called 'firsts' on the road of grief.”

The first Christmas were I don't receive a ”hipster” present.

The first Valentine's day I didn't stress about where to go ”A resort? Her favorite museum?” Then, get rejected.

”Can't we just stay home.”

The first time I don't have to check behind the bathroom door for one of her elaborate jump-scares.

There were still ”firsts” that I didn't even pa.s.s yet.

To think that we couldn't even get to see our first anniversary...

There're still so many metaphorical hurdles to get over.

I can't blame him for thinking that though. I didn't tell him about the insomnia, or the dreams. It shouldn't be his problem. Why share pain with someone who doesn't even deserve to feel any pain?

I roll over to see my potted plants crowding my night stand.

There are now three in total.

One of the first things I was told after Jasmine died, other than ”I'm sorry” was ”You need to find something to do. Preferably, something with your hands.”

I know what you're thinking.