1|When It Feels Like All Is Lost, Keep Lookin' for That Motherf*cker|

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I feel like I'm losin' my focus
I feel like I'm losin' my patience




June 25, 2018

It's been nearly three years since Alionna's death. Next month marks her third year anniversary and Michael was prepared for yet another year without his beloved wife. Since leaving out of Detective Gibbs' office a couple years back, Michael has been on the hunt to find his wife's killer but to no avail. He kept pushing no matter what; he was determined to seek justice for what was taken away from him.

But just two months ago, that's when Michael put a hault to his quest at seeking revenge. He had given up all hope. It had him thinking that maybe Detective Gibbs was right along. Whoever murdered her made sure to cover their tracks and they've done a hell of a great job in doing so. Michael couldn't trace anything. He has asked questions, he's searched around areas, he's prayed to God but got no clues. It came to a point where he wanted to blame God but could never bring himself to do it. Deep in his soul, he knew that God hasn't done anything wrong and would answer his prayers, just not when he wanted Him to. But Michael needed answers stat and to not have that is what made him eventually give up.

His patience grew thin.

Guilt had reared it's ugly head and since he's calmed down from his own manhunt, he felt that he has failed Alionna and their unborn child. His grief worsened because of it contributing into him eating less, and now, becoming the world's most terrible insomniac. Trying to heal has always been ineffective because he continued to grieve in his own way. Yes, there are times he may go through his phone and look at photos and videos of him and Alionna; his laughter would turn into tears. Then there are times when he's blank-he shuts everything and everyone in the world out and not bother doing anything. Eating and sleeping had become foreign life essentials to him at this point. And he knows without a shadow of a doubt, if Alionna was alive, she would be on his ass about the state he's in. He misses her tremendously and just wishes that whoever took her from him could be easily found.

Why did it have to be this hard?

For the past two months, he's been cooped inside of his home. People who knew Michael very well oftentimes would see him out and about, but now, he doesn't care to show his face unless he has to. Although they understood why he kept to himself, they would stop by every blue moon to check in on him and make sure he's doing fine and his response would be thanks for checkin' in, but I'm good. It was short and quick to get them out of his face so that he could be left alone.

Always had been an early riser, Michael recieved a text message from a close friend of his, letting him know they will be visiting just a few minutes ago. And as they told him that they would, they arrived in twelve minutes sending soft knocks to the front door of his home. Dragging his feet in his Nike slides across the floor, he made his way to the door, unlocking the locks and swinging it open to reveal Yalayla. Dressed in a black camisole tucked into a pair of ripped jeans and black and white checkered Vans on her sized six feet, she flashed a smile at him as he done the same, but barely showing any teeth. He let his eyes look over her once before settling back onto her brown irises.

"You look nice," he complimented her in a chilled tone.

"Thank you and you look like shit," she told him truthfully, pushing her way passed him through the door.

"Oh, I know. You ain't gotta tell my ass what I don't already know."

"I'm just saying," she shrugged with a short laugh.

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