nameless; a ghost left behind.

It's one of those mornings where I've not much to do immediately, so I find myself floating around the internet whenever I shouldn't be. It's easiest for me to land here because while I'm typing at least I look like I'm doing some work.

The truth is that I haven't had much to say. My thoughts about nameless have been easy to deal with, but have to be dealt with none the less. I find myself moving into a place where I just want to isolate myself away from everyone. Whenever people offer their condolences, it's a very nice gesture, but after a while you just don't have much to say about it anymore. My mother had been visiting her brother's in Hawaii; she just returned last weekend. She, nameless, and I would often hang out together. We would laugh, smoke pot, make jokes, and ride the streets. Now that she's home, and we've had the opportunity to talk about him and cry about him; it's been very healing.

The reality of him being gone is probably the most strange of things. A month and a half ago he and I could be found wrapped up in each other's embrace, but he's gone now. All that remains is the fading echo of a life once lived. One finds themselves reaching and grasping for whatever articles or personal effects that have been left behind in order to preserve what has been.

The truth is that I'm past a lot of the physical. Now it's just the ghost that has been left behind.