His smile, wider than I remember it to be.
But I know. I read his diary.
The pain he's going through.
The loss he suffered.
The smile isn't real.
It's too perfect to be real.

---

I am tired. I stay awake at night, because I'm afraid of closing my eyes. I tell myself I'll be okay, but then every time I shut my eyes, the images just come back. They are burned into my eyelids. And I cannot unsee what I've seen.

Will I ever find rest or respite from this nightmare?
Maybe I'll just have to learn to sleep with my eyes open.
Resentment I see, maybe subconscious.
Maybe it's conscious, but I just try to deny it.

Maybe I'm just not ready to let it go.