The Wall

I don’t need people to tell me she’d want me to be happy. Maybe she would. Probably she would. She loved me. I know that. But that sentence often lands like a shortcut people use when they’re tired of your pain. As if the existence of her hypothetical blessing somehow reduces the violence of her absence. It doesn’t. I can believe she’d want good things for me and still be absolutely wrecked by the fact that she is not here to be part of them.