I still can’t quite believe I’m never going to see him again.
I wonder if I ever will believe.
There’s a difference, I guess, between acceptance and belief. And it’s strange, because in the first few shattering days I did believe it, believed it horribly and viscerally. The truth of it was immense and blocked out the world, everything else becoming tissue paper, scrunched and disposable, disposed. But now…
The truth of it doesn’t settle in. It recedes. And the world goes from tissue to silk and we remember who we are, forget the absurdity of it all. There’s a difference, I think, between acceptance and belief. Or maybe they’re just two different shades of denial.