Anything that helps me to shut my eyes is welcome. That way, I don’t see all the work piling up, some beautiful woman talking me out of cash. Most of all, there are all the places Braxton used to be. Tears wash away all but him. In Grief B Leave
Tuesday, July 20, 2021
Chronicle 019 ~In Grief B Leave~
Dear Future Wife,
I AM a Billionaire right now, but crying into money, having our kids see my tears, or even crying to you, Love.
As the song goes, “But everyone knows that a man ain’t suppose to cry.” I know in today’s society, THEY would consider that wrong. Speaking of today, it’s what Day 170? And I’m still crying about my lost boy, my Braxton. Last night I had a realization as tears fell. Crying over B III is much like sleep. Do you think I’m nuts that it’s becoming almost a relief? Remembering B III is a way to rinse off the whole day. When I had the Day Job, I’d come back and immediately have to take a shower. With what I do now, I indeed should. It feels so wrong, using him as another excuse. Nobody would blame me for staying in bed all day mourning.
Everything seems to be coming down on me. I mean, all this work and how many days did I have off again. Only how did I spend them. In bed? That’s something we’ll work on. Considering I’ve left my somewhat celibate priest state. This led me to last night when I was working, and I was so exhausted afterward, I barely worked on the book. Braxton’s novel. Now he would find a way to distract me from writing a book. My Love, you have your ways, but again I simply want to lie down and sleep. What else is there? My Love, I know. I’m scared that I’m becoming like my Olds. It’s something to do, not pay for. Did I forget my own business?
I have forgotten everything. This is why I have to work so hard today, but it’s as if there’s Something In The Way; Nirvana plays. It’s as if the storm inside of me has changed. Acceptance is not an option, Baby Girl. When crying, it was like I was drowning. For now, yet again, it feels like; a cleansing as problems gather around me. I need to be free Love. With the mess, my eyes are making. I’m not looking for B III on the end of the bed now. Hell, all the excuses I have, if the paper is wet, it doesn’t matter. My best friend is dead. Um, isn’t that you now, my Love? Show me you’re there, please. In Grief B Leave
170 Days Without B III
BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,