i'm glad i deleted most of my past conversations. going through them was like doing a dissection, cutting them open and trying to see what was the cause of the death, and i ain't no coroner1. i don't do it anymore, i don't need to. i prefer remembering them by myself, i don't need to see them with my own eyes, i don't need to touch them. i don't need to see the scalpel going through their skin, letting all the conversation blood spill out all over my surgical gown. there are things that will live much more inside our minds rather than inside an operating room, above an operating table. how many times have i killed a beautiful memory trying to find the good in something that was already great?
the grief acted like a cancer, inoperable and strong through every kindness pointed and shot right to me.