Today is day two without the brother, and temporarily without the parents. And what I would imagine to be a break for freedom, I find myself reluctant to reach out and grab it. I find rivulets of tears streaming down my face when I wake, but I hardly remember my dreams. I find scars along the sides of my arms, which they do not bear. I find tainted beauty in music and I cannot hear. I find myself staring into the most beautiful starry skies, and the richest of sunsets within the four walls of my confinement. I find wars inside me battling each other, wearing me out, when I look perfectly fine on the outside.
I'm hallucinating within myself, within the limits of my sanity, my thoughts battling back and forth from breaking out, and closing in. My emotions are stirred. It's true, you'll never know what you've got till it's gone.
Relating back to the topic. I woke up on a Tuesday morning, teary eyed from an impossibly sad dream I cannot remember, stumbling out of bed and cringing at the sight of the rising sun. I crack open my door and stepped out, and I find the door opposite mine hanging open as well, dark and forbidding.
With sleep still in my head, I walk into the room, already used to the slight darkness. I find that nothing has changed. The sheets lay spread out neatly, the carpet cleaned and maroon, the drum kit and sticks waiting to the played. The tables filled with photo frames, the counter tops with clothes, the study desk scattered with paper.
A slight tingle in my chest.
It was a presence that struck me. In fact, it was the fact that there were no presence that struck me the hardest. It was hardly a change except for an absence of the notebook on the desk. But the main essence of the room is gone. And for three years, the smell that lingers will slowly disappear. The dusts will gather. The room will fade to nothing.
I wish I could stop the word from spinning, my head, my emotions. There's nothing to hold onto when everything doesn't stay the same. You get a rush of memories when a song is played. A pang in your chest when you see someone with the same hair, or the same kind of walk. A smile playing across your lips when you recite back things that you know they would say.
But time doesn't care about wishful thinking. Time doesn't judge. Time doesn't give a shit. And that's why you have memories, pictures, videos, recordings, drawings, writings, to force you to remember, force you to always keep in your memories.
To make sure, you never, ever forget.