you’re gone…

I don’t know if you have noticed, but I don’t really do emotions. I do sarcasm covered in more sarcasm, and if you look really really closely you may see a hit of feelings. But sometimes I crack. I am not titanium. I’m a rock and rocks go through erosion.

Let me explain.

I got home form Ireland and zoomed to Austin for sorority shenanigans. One afternoon, I got a text form my old best friend saying, “Something happened last night and I think you need to hear it from me. Call me as soon as you can.”

After talking to her, I was calm, I was thinking of others, like I do. Thinking about what I could do, who I could help, who needed my comfort. But after the fact, I felt the hole in my heart. The gap creating more and more space in my chest. He was gone, someone I had 20140309_134410once used as my rock, my protection, my best friend was gone.

*Sidebar*     I don’t emote in public, for some reason I have always disliked it and felt I can’t do it. It makes me feel uncomfortable and weak, yet no one has every told me that. I don’t even feel comfortable crying in my bed and letting my roommates hear me. I tell people I am always there for them, I am a shoulder to cry on, yet I never let anyone take care of me.   *Sidebar Over*

The worst part was having to be okay, because I was on the third floor of a house with 197 women in it. Women who didn’t know, and didn’t need to. I had to be okay. I had to be
focused and working, not breaking, crumbling, and wanting to run home as fast as I could. I got through a day, and tore myself away from people the second I could. As soon as everyone started falling asleep, I went outside and laid on the grass, the sobs rang in and  day broke too soon. Time to be okay again.

My face and heart were saying two different things. I starting acting when I was 7, so by 20 I had mastered my 10,000 hours scientifically calling me a master. Throughout the day, news broke out back home about what happened, and my shell started cracking ever so slightly, but few noticed. People didn’t connect the dots between him and me, because we had kept our distance in recent years, a mistake I realize now. Our lives where in two different worlds, I didn’t know his secrets anymore, but I hold on to the fact I knew his heart. Hearts don’t change, and his was one of my favorites.



It’s been close to three months since he passed away. Three months. The wound is still there, the hole and the hurt come around every so often, but so does reminders of his life.  Reminders of who he was in songs, in stories, in random faces on the streets. I don’t believe he is gone, he is just here in a new way. Losing him was terrible, but knowing he is no longer in pain makes it better.



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