more of the same

I was fine when I left the graveyard, I was fine when I was reassuring my sister that I was fine, I was fine when I left my brothers house, I was fine sitting in my room reading, until I looked up from my book and at the dream catcher hanging from my blinds. Then I lost it completely. All the composure I gained after losing it at the grave yard fell apart. I burst into tears and started to look through pictures, I read the poem and thank you letter contained in my senior scrapbook, one thing led to another, and I find myself bawling into a tattered, torn up jean jacket that is too hippie for even my tastes, its soul purpose is to hang in my closet until I need it to hug and cry into. It smells strongly of dust and very vaguely of camel cigarettes with subtle hints of jasmine, petiole, and lavender, but to me it is the closet thing I have to hugging her. Right now I am wearing the jacket, burning lavender, jasmine, and petiole and listening to matchbox twenty, but I think I am fine again. I am crying, but I am definitely handling this better than last year. I can have closure and still grieve, right?