A Monday

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…” It’s a tune on endless repeat throughout my day.

It wasn’t even a dream that was solely about you, Hurlburt. Hadley and I were walking down the E wing hallway, and there you were, standing in the commons.

I ran to you, pushing past people in the process.

You were wearing your green sweater, a tie, your converse, with your backpack slung across your shoulders, it was so normal.

I ran into your arms and gave you the biggest bear hug, crying into your shoulder, and you kept whispering “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…”

And then my alarm went off.

I didn’t want to wake up, I didn’t want to leave you, because I knew when I woke up, it’d be gone. You’re not even here anymore, and it’s just a dull ache in the place where I held you in my heart.

I dragged myself up this morning, and I’m proud of that. I cried in my bed, I cried in the shower, I want to cry now. But I got myself out of bed this morning, despite the ache magnifying in my body.

I don’t think about it. I can’t think about you. Because if I do all the emotion wells up again, magnifying by a thousand each time, so much so that at this point it physically hurts. I feel this hole in my chest, and every time I feel a stinging behind my eyes, I remind myself that I’ve already cried enough to fill the Atlantic and then some. Because to cope means to bury, and at this point I have no choice.

I wish you were reading this, Mr. H, because then you’d know how much I hurt. You’re paying for your mistake, and I know that. But I wish you’d realize who else you tore apart, aside from your family. I wish I had some link to you, rather than futile attempts to contact you through Facebook. I just wish I could say goodbye… If only you could know.

But I guess you never will.

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