So many numbers. 4. 5. 5th of 5. 5th of 6.
Or, perhaps, none of those.
Very much eclipsed by this year to the outside. But not to me. Not forgotten, even if not quite remembered in the same way. I can’t say the pain is any less, or the grief, or the loss or the hurt. The anger is gone, even if the regret is not.
Not forgotten. Rolled into one parcel of pain, but not forgotten. I’m not any less sorry than I ever was.
I’ve lit these candles on the 14th every year for 4 years. And now I’m looking at another number. 3 candles. Dear gods, don’t let there be a reason for the 3. Please.
