Vhas' Writing - Tumblr Posts

six-white-venus
1 year ago

to change

"to change," - a piece on grief and life after loss. I died that day, too. I will never be the same and neither will the world. But thank you; thank you for your pride and love. Thank you for giving me something to mourn and celebrate. Spring is of no great importance, but the rain is sweet and the sun is soft, as if nature too, has weathered after you left.

(There’s a word consisting of 6 simple letters that sounds like beautiful, beautiful poetry. Spring. By definition, it’s when the snow melts from its delicate perch on withered grass, and the world feels a little bit warmer. In temperate climates, anyway. Where I’m from, spring isn’t anything of great importance.)
You’d be proud. You’d be proud if you had ever been able to read this. You’d smile and pat my head and say I’m wonderful and boost my inflated, childish ego. You’d be proud if you saw that my sister turned into a college athlete after bugging you to take her halfway across the city for basketball classes. You’d give her a cheque or something – God knows where you got that money from – and tell her to keep it up.
You’d be proud if you found out that my mum opened a clinic a little way away from that house you worked so hard to keep upright. You’d visit everyday and give her food that you never ate. You’d be proud if you were there when my dad founded that oddly-specific medical society and decided that he’ll have some anniversary thing set up. You wouldn’t know what’s going on because he’s dreadfully vague, but you’d listen to him talk and clap your hands at the end of it.
Wouldn't you?
Things have changed since you left. The bakery we used to go to shut down. Strawberry pie makes my throat dry up in ways I never thought it would. I haven’t stayed in that house you loved for more than 15 minutes. The world has never felt so unconquerable, so unsafe. You left in the spring, and things changed, as things do.
(Where I’m from, spring isn’t anything of great importance, because spring represents change. Where I’m from, to change is to be constant. Where I’m from, you hated static, yet remained chained to your schedules. Where I’m from, I feel like I’m not, because I am without you. I still think that, despite all this change, you would always be proud.)

(crossposted on @/vrs.culdesac on Instagram and on Medium.)

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