Cluttered

Words fail me. I could hardly make sense of my emotions. I’m numb.

I wish I were like the great poets. Unlike me, maybe they were able to make sense of what they we were feeling, and they were so good they even put their thoughts down in pen and paper.

But I have no logical thoughts right now. My mind is a clutter. A clutter of questions generated by disbelief, shock, and pain.

* * *

Why?

* * *

Right now, I’m still thinking of you: bursting with that horribly infectious laughter, beaming with your signature smile (yeah, it's your angle!)…your hair tossed by the wind, your face caressed by the gentlest of winds.

***

If you saw our blockmates right now, their eyes bags are the size of bean bags.

Oh, I know you’ll laugh at that silly joke. A good, hearty laughter the world will never hear again.