who can say who has it worse? The one that was taken away, the one who left, or the one who was left behind? Is it even right to do a comparison, has life really become such that all is a competition?
Grieving is such a complicated process. The word grief itself is so melodramatic too. Because it's such a personal issue. First you berate yourself, sink into your stupor of your misery. Search for the strength, ashamed of the dramatics. You get trapped in the abyss that you dont even have the energy to crawl out of.
How does one deal with guilt? Mastering the art of self forgiveness or the mastering the mockery of pretence? Stoicism beckons and waves gaily, only to rear its ugly head as you approach.
The cliche of time heals all wounds simply laughs a jeering laugh in times of trouble, only after we experience its truth do we hear its hidden melody. Yet can happiness or relief be truly be truly pure, or will a lost love or a lost cause be forever tainted.
We are all soldiers, carrying our own crosses, and God will never give us a burden too heavy to bear. As a child of God, we are taught that love conquers all. But to exercise its theory is to exorcise our demons. The ghosts haunt us, we see them everywhere, struggling to remember that God is omnipresent too.
A direction in life, a purpose, to prevent us from being lost sheep. To wander is to escape, but ultimately you want to go home to the warmth of the Shepard.
The freedom to imagine we have been blessed with. A sword given to us which we abuse as a weapon against ourselves. innate sadistic intricacies, or manipulation of the intricacies of life thrown at us.
The need to fly away from it all. Yet you cower down, because of the uncertainty.
The momentary happiness. The momentary escapes. How good it feels.
But the constant heartache never disappears. The remarks, the need to defend, but the helplessness at the situation.
Feeling like a fool, feeling like the biggest bastard ever.
tired. of it all.
e.x.h.a.u.s.t.i.o.n.
But what matters anymore, who matters anymore.
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