04.25.03
This wound has become infected
It's so tragic, and itmakes me wonder. Make me remember his small frame, hunched over a cigarete. Or his glazed eyes from too much pot smoke.
Sometimes, when someone dies, I feel as though I don't have the right to mourn them, and I don't know why.
Like when Jared, a distant friend, killed himself three or four summers ago, or when Gabrielle died last fall. I feel like it's not my right, I was close enough to them. And that that's my fault, beacuse I could have made the conscious decision to have our lives touch each other more frequently. And because of that, I have no right to mourn.
But when death leanded on my doorstep, when my grandmother and my aunt died within three weeks of each other, I felt the same way. She wasn't my mother, like she was my cousin's mother. I had let her sickness scare me away from staying close to her, I had run away, as far as I could, and I abandoned my family for four years, until I realized that they were who I was. So why should I be allowed to mourn her.
And I guess maybe I'm selfish, thinking about me and they way this all makes me feel, when there's a boy I barely knew buried beside his mother, who he found hanging from a rope nine years ago. Maybe I've created a circle for myself, where I always loop back into myself, because I'm just too damn scared to open my heart to anyone who might hurt me. And in the end, I'm always the only loser.
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