Random Dump

I saw my favorite persons body after life had left them.
I don’t think anything in this world can break me more than that.

Nothing prepares you for that moment.

The silence.
The stillness.
The way your brain keeps trying to rewind time like it can undo what it just saw.

People think grief is crying.
They don’t talk about the image that follows you everywhere.

You don’t walk out the same.

After something like that, little things don’t shake you the way they used to.
Because you already survived the kind of pain that splits your life into before and after.

I live with a sentence that never changes:

My mom is dead.

It doesn’t matter what day it is.
It doesn’t matter what I’m doing.
It doesn’t matter if I’m laughing, driving, folding laundry, answering someone’s message.

Under everything — every thought, every movement, every moment —
that sentence is still there.

My mom is dead.

People think grief fades because you stop talking about it as much.
But it doesn’t fade.

It embeds.

It becomes the background noise of your existence.
The permanent echo behind your life.

I am functioning around an absence that will never be filled.
Living years she will never see.
Becoming someone she will never meet.

And the most unbearable part is this:

The world expects me to live as if that sentence isn’t the truest thing about my reality.

Welcome to Random Dump 🗑️✨. This is the official home for all the thoughts, memes, and photos that are too weird for a portfolio but too good to delete. No aesthetic, no niche, just pure, uncurated brain energy. Buckle up.

Miss you mommy. Always and forever.