i still think of it everyday. some days i wake up thinking about it. those are the days the sun shines too brightly through the curtains, but the floor is too cold for bare feet. the days my normally cocooned 45 degree angle sheets are twisted in a ball at the foot of my bed, and my eyes adamantly refuse to open. the alarm goes off and not only is the snooze slammed, but entirely turned off.
i hate it when it is the first thought on my mind. who wants to wake up to that awful sound of shattering flass windowshields and hot metal melting, molding, twisting around tree trunks (plural), turning the steering wheel but having no control whatsoever.
it has been almost 11 months now. 322 days. how many nightmares? how many daymares?