Letter To B


D’you know what the craziest part is? I can’t recall what you looked like, and I’ve been afraid to say that because you’re so vivid in everyone else’s mind - so why not mine?


It’s why I stared so hard when they brought you home - you must have thought I was, again, crazy. The truth is, I was trying to etch that...you, in my memory - so I can have something to go back to when I speak of you, or think about you. 

I recently had a conversation with one of your favorite artists; he used the term ‘operational shock’ (to describe the loss of someone else he knew) but now I wear it around like a badge... the term not the person. 

‘Hi, my name is Ivy and I am in operational shock’ 

The period of social acceptability has passed since you, well, passed but I haven’t even begun to process. So I try to talk about it with my people - believe me, it’s not pity I seek, I am just trying to come to terms with you not being around 

I recently met someone who loves Coldplay as much as you do (or did), Adele is dropping an album (you were right by the way, arithmetically it would take her another 5 years)  - and the sun still shines outside and I am not sure how that’s in any way...fair. 

It’s why I am writing this letter too - I, who was so hellbent on being angry at you; that’s what it was, right? Anger? No. Hurt. 

I am still hurting, now there’s just more layers to it. 

I am not sure I’m allowed to cry for you, mourn you or grieve you - how, when I am still so hurt? Angry? Confused?

Where are you? Where did you go to? 

I require you to be here - so I can yell at you, cuss you out and then hug you; tell you I miss you and I love you and that you shouldn’t have left without at least saying goodbye. 

Everyone seems to have their own understanding of what this is. Logically, empirically it makes sense -  I am just not sure what to do with how I feel

It’s 4 in the morning, again, like every other day. I still can’t remember your face or what your laugh sounded like; I’ve returned to the place I last saw you at and still nothing punches my gut or knocks the wind out of my lungs. Instead, I feel it from afar, like a mildly throbbing headache - that just doesn't go away - is that better? The consistency?

What flowers did you like, if at all? 

I need to wrap this up 

I think the light left dad’s eyes. 

I still haven’t been able to listen to Bob yet.

Someone said I was ‘strong’ - I think I am just in shock. Operational shock. 



Writer’s Bio:

Hi, my name’s Robi...Ivy Robi

I’m a writer and sometimes I have random ideas that I use to develop content for digital...mostly.  

Previous Next