I was born; now,
I am here.
Annie is gone.
From ‘The Book Thief’ - Markus Zusak (via literaryheartbeat)
Christina Perri, Bluebird
She told me she needs to be alone right now. She called me while I was at work on Wednesday, which she never does, and told me Annie died and she needed to be alone—bye. That was three days ago. Which really isn’t that long, but with something like this, it feels like an eternity. I keep telling myself not to start worrying until Monday has come and gone—we usually call each other on Monday nights, because I don’t have class until 11 the next day and she’s in night classes for the masters program so her days are free—but I can’t help it. She’s one of those people who does not sadden easily. I’d chalk it up to emotional maturity, but this is the same girl who gets excited over Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, so I don’t even know. My point is, when she’s genuinely upset, she plunges deep into the dark. She pulls away from people, or at least from me, and tries to deal with it on her own. Any words of encouragement or love are immediately shot down by blunt denial.
But Annie is dead.
She had her for 11 years and she was head over heels with her. Whenever Annie came up in one of our conversations it always came down to how sweet, how adorable, how wonderful she was. Which is all so, so true. Annie was without flaw; the most loving a living creature could ever be. She loved people, she loved treats, she loved her daily walks, she loved my best friend and my best friend loved her back in equal fold. But now Annie is gone and she won’t talk to me.
I want to be there for her. I want to listen to her and show her that I’m there for her and how much I love her AND Annie, because this is hurting me too. I can’t talk about this with anyone else because no one will understand how devastating this truly is.
I actually tried with a friend earlier today when we were walking to dinner, and all she did was make a sympathetic noise and a socially appropriate facial expression, and that was that. There is no way to adequately explain the severity of this loss, unless directly connected to it in the first place. And that is just too unfair for too many reasons.
God, it’s only been three days, but I’m already losing it.
Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
I STOOD BY YOUR BED LAST NIGHT
I stood by your bed last night, I came to have a peep.
I could see that you were crying, You found it hard to sleep.
I whined to you softly as you brushed away a tear,
“It’s me, I haven’t left you, I’m well, I’m fine, I’m here.”
I was close to you at breakfast, I watched you pour the tea.
You were thinking of the many times, your hands reached down to me.
I was with you at the shops today, Your arms were getting sore.
I longed to take your parcels, I wish I could do more.
I was with you at my grave today, You tend it with such care.
I want to reassure you, that I’m not lying there.
I walked with you towards the house, as you fumbled for your key.
I gently put my paw on you, I smiled and said “it’s me.”
You looked so very tired, and sank into a chair.
I tried so hard to let you know, that I was standing there.
It’s possible for me to be so near you everyday.
To say to you with certainty, “I never went away.”
You sat there very quietly, then smiled, I think you knew,
in the stillness of that evening, I was very close to you.
The day is over… I smile and watch you yawning and say “good-night,
God bless, I’ll see you in the morning.”
And when the time is right for you to cross the brief divide,
I’ll rush across to greet you and we’ll stand, side by side.
I have so many things to show you, there is so much for you to see.
Be patient, live your journey out … then come home to be with me.
She’s dead and you won’t talk to me about it.
Why won’t you talk to me?
This hurts me too.
Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower
Sylvia Plath, Daddy