I was self aware enough to recognise when something wasn't where it should've been. I was also self aware enough to know when my body was presenting the signs of a panic attack.
As I looked down on my father's headstone, an overwhelming sense of sadness made my knees buckle and nearly had me collapsing in a heap of tears and self-loathing to the ground.
No amount of regret or apologies could fix what I'd done to the man. No river of tears would wash away the stain of guilt that sat on my forehead like a target for divine judgement, of which I deserved every single blow.
I'd come to terms with Henri's death in the dark, though the courage still hadn't been born to go visit his grave. Hours of crying and hurting had smoothed over into dream-like reminiscing, where everything was back to how it was and I lived hidden inside of memories to protect me from the very real, cold, and rodent-infested reality that was my captivity.
