A Little Bit; Of Your Heart and Mine

Loss is explosive.

At that particular instant, your emotions scurry like pathetic mice in frantic disarray.

Fast, faster, fastest.

Until something deep within the recesses of your heart explodes; a quiet sort of violence; an irrevocable sort of violence. With a tremble, and then, a sigh.

Sometimes, loss is customary and so nothing changes. Only the ceasing of a heartbeat that was so quiet, you forgot it was ever there in the first place.

For-get-table. Forgettable.

Loss makes the Heart infinitely larger and yet, indescribably smaller, all at the same time.

Engorged with grief, the irony is that it is only in our loss that our capacity for pain increases. Yet loss incessantly gnaws away (the result of which is a Dull Ache) and a small hole appears. Sometimes the hole is merely enlarged.

We’ve all been told that we have an infinite propensity to heal. And we are fundamentally forgetful; our muddled conscious can only sustain but so much. But the hole, the gaping hole. Does it ever actually close up? Or does it merely cease to bleed?











I don’t know.