five hundred and five days

it's been nearly a year and a half since the world lost my dad. i thought it would be a lot easier, but honestly the grief became much more poignant this year. 

i'm okay most of the time, but sometimes i dream and i wake up to a different world and i can't catch my breath. i start regretting every time i almost went home and stayed because i lived in a major city/covid hot spot, and how if i hadn't insisted on moving about and trying to selfishly experience everything and stayed near my family, i could have had a little more time. i do always eventually remind myself that he wanted me to live my life as hard as i could. 

i also know that as much as i dream of five more minutes together, it wouldn't change anything. i know how much he loved me. i even feel like i know what he would say if we did have a few more seconds together. i know. it's just so overwhelming sometimes.