Drops of water on a rock, or on your forehead

Over hundreds and thousands of years, little drops of water have carved caverns and rivers, and the Grand Canyon.  In the fifteenth century, Hippolytus de Marsiliis infamously described a form of torture where water slowly dripped onto the forehead until the victim went insane, typically referred to as Chinese Water Torture.  As the saying goes, "little things mean a lot".

I love music.  I have dozens of playlists.  Some I have edited to remove certain songs that remind me of him.  Like Green Day's "Holiday", since he performed it with some friends at a church function, and it was just spectacular.  Others have touchy songs that I can sometimes listen to and not think of him.  Like The Black Eyed Peas, "I Gotta Feeling", which brings back the 2010 robotics competiton season, and how his team got to meet the group backstage at the national championships.  Then there are songs that had nothing to do with him, like Naked Eyes "There's Always Something There to Remind Me" and Neon Trees "Songs I Can't Listen To".  While they are both ostensibly love songs, the overriding theme resonates for me.

He had a very special relationship with my oldest (grumpy) cat, Boose.  Any time that cat does something cute, I want to take a picture, or text him.

Then there's turtles and penguins, two of his favorite animals.  Every time I see something cute that involves one, I want to buy it and send it to him.  But then, the little knife slides up under my rib cage reminding me that how pointless that would be.  He would probably throw the package away without even opening it.

There's the geeky teen angst shows we used to watch together that I sometimes stumble across on Netflix.  Or cooking shows, which we would also watch together.  There are all the photos on my computer that I try not to look at any more.  Sometimes it's a food that he really liked, or really disliked.  Or games he liked to play.  Or power outages.  Or stinky feet.  Or.  Just.  Life.  

One of the reasons I moved across the country was to get away from so many reminders.  But I carry so many with me.   So much of him is apart of me, like catchphrases that he would say.  His words automatically come out of my mouth, usually in a funny situation.  Then, it's not funny any more.  There's that tiny little knife under the rib cage again.

Another Chinese torture comes to mind.  Death by a thousand cuts.