It’s been two years since she's been gone, and yet, to me, it feels like it was a long time ago. It feels like it’s been a long, long time since she's been around.

And truth be told, I've been thinking more of her now that she's not here anymore.

Sometimes she just crosses my mind. When I think about chances and how I blew them. When I think about the words I should have said and done but did not.

When I feel lost. When I feel trapped.

Because she's one great example that there's really an end to everything, whether you're ready or not, even when they say there's so much more ahead of you, that your future looks bright, that you seemed to have everything and still, when it's your time, it's your time, no matter how sudden, or some people may say you've been robbed of the life you deserve to have.

It makes you want to hug someone, kiss them, tell them you love them because you'll never know it might be the last time.

But I still don't do it because I'm never like that. People might say I'm cold, and maybe I am. Or maybe I'm just clueless about how to act that way because I'm never that way.

The truth is, I don't want to think about it.

Scary, isn't it? How life's so unpredictable. Here today and gone tomorrow.

But that's just the way of life, always is and always will be. You cannot stop the train by standing in its way holding your arms up and say stop, for goodness' sake, just stop.

It doesn't go that way. And it'll never be that way.

I've not been the same since the last time we've been together, if she asks me. Or better yet, don't. Or else I'd be scared.

Apart from getting older, I've gained a few pounds. People who know me say it suits me compared to me being too skinny before, but it makes me feel insecure. I've always been but a little change can sure scare me, and it wasn't even because of weight.

I know she'd laugh, but the girl who doesn't care an iota about her skin now has a skincare routine. Nothing fancy, just a normal one that I should have done when I was in my teenage years, I know, but maybe it comes with age, the more you get older, the more you get conscious of things. And get sensitive.

I've become more sensitive. And paranoid. And impatient. The list is long.

Is that a bad thing?

I don't want to answer that.

It'll shock her, our friends were shocked as well when they learned this, I'm telling you, and they're like, what happened? Life, I guess? But I've learned to drink, and no, I didn't turn into an alcoholic. Why does it feel like I'm being defensive? But I'm not. Just occasionally?

When sadness is too much to bear, and I can't close my eyes even when I beat myself from work, it just doesn't work. I know that it's not healthy, and you shouldn't drink when you're sad, but what else can I do? So much, but I choose not to. I just want to escape, even just for a while.

Does it take away the sadness and pain? Hell, no. In fact, it always feels like when you're drunk, it has a triple effect, like the wound was just yesterday, still fresh and bleeding, and the knife's still there.

You know it's crazy, but it feels like it's better than feeling nothing, not feeling anything at all. Or lying to your own face, you don't feel a thing. Vulnerability sometimes is good. That at the end of the day, you're still human. You still have feelings.

Sorry that I've been talking about me. I badly want to ask her the same question, what she's been up to, but that's impossible. Sometimes I feel like, how was it when it ended? Is that really how they said it happens?

Times I want to know the answer, if I'm being honest, a lot of times.

But I'm still here. Was I glad? Yes and no.

Surely, I still have a purpose.

There's got to be. I really hope I do.

If none, then cheers, I guess.
© euphemia