Excerpts From A Book I'll Never Write

five stages of grief

Denial
I was sitting in my studio room 500 kilometers away still in my fancy dress and half-done eyeliner. My phone won't stop ringing but so are my ears for the voices inside my head were screaming.

This isn't real. You can't be gone.

Anger
I was barely sixteen going to a friend's party with a dress i thought was pretty, it was black, made out of lace in the shape of a flower but the moment i stepped down the stairs you were there sitting on the dining table, glasses perched on your nose, academic paper in hand. What is it that you're wearing? You look like a whore.

And it lingers in the back of my mind like a sticker purposefully torn out of a wall.

I look like a whore.

Bargaining
Please just take me instead.

Depression
This house is too big for a family of three, father still leaves the lights on at night in the room where you used to sleep and my therapist told me i needed a healthier coping mechanism.

Acceptance
Maybe i will visit your grave again one day when i'm brave enough to face the truth and my regret has worn off like the color of your purse that i carry everywhere now.

(but, mother, i apologize for i will never know what your favorite flowers are)