I'm jealous of me... From two thousand thirteen. The one in his head, holding his attention, too far in the clouds for disappointment. The me that smiled and dreamed, the one that held in her hand his.
At the same time
I feel pain and mourn for the two thousand fourteen me, the one without security. Facing her first true heartbreak, foolishly thinking it would be her last. Not cherishing the smiles of her brothers or laughs of her father. Breaking over the loss of the boy from two thousand thirteen
Then
I cry constantly, for the two thousand fifteen me. The one who used to be full of faith and hope, until all reality ripped away the seams in two thousand fourteen. The thread named family. Metal clanking, the sirens flashing, everything going numb. The sound of the patter of the officers boots across my porch.
Me, currently
It's the beginning of the end of two thousand fifteen, three months in, 7 months since the loss of everything. All that's left from the scattered dreams and the brutal reality, is the idea that everything will eventually be alright. But, it doesn't seem right. I can't sleep at night. Every second is a fight. Panic attacks come in routine, breakdowns are my new hobby, and the future seems dead to me.
Now I just sit around accounting for the past that so extremely changed me. Hoping, that maybe, there's a light at the end of this tragedy.