The Struggle for the Perfect Words…unedited…

It’s strange. I am sitting in a high-back chair, low to the ground, and putting words on paper, and I’ve got not the foggiest notion what to write. Thermopolis and Lilly are off doing God knows what. I’m buffeted on all sides by sorrow. I’m alone with my thoughts, and my mind refuses to focus.

Tomorrow will get better, I said yesterday. I closed my computer and pretended to have a life.

Yesterday was a day of tears, a day of regret.

Chunk sat at my feet, his enormous eyes dimmed with sadness, and he whimpered when I sobbed. My mind refused to stay on one subject for very long. It would brush past a thought but never lit upon it. Instead, it flittered away like an uninterested hawk on the hunt for better prey.

Today is no better. I’m tired but not sleepy. I’m some perverse paradox of awake, but also a listless caricature of my humanity, such as it is. I dread five p.m. because my listlessness will have a valid reason for existing.

There’s an unending void in my heart where all the loss has eroded, as if an acidic compound ate through my flesh, and all that remained is an undying mouth of sorrow filled with blood-stained teeth and an ever-growing hunger.

Saying that aloud would give the impression that I’ve gone mad, but here, on the paper, it’s just words written to give color to a novel setting. Or maybe I am mad.

It had to come from somewhere, correct?

Death is no stranger to any of us. He is like relatives you wished with fervency you did not have, a pain-in-the-flesh, like a splinter protected by a blood blister. An unwelcome guest at any event.

Those who remain felt his icy touch. Even after he captured his quarry, his smell haunts the living. The brief glimpse of terror etched upon the faces of his victims is an advertisement of his chilling presence.

As I try to find the words to describe what I feel in my heart- the organ with the caustic holes burned in it from loss-I flip from one website to another, hoping to find a word that perfectly describes the anguish in my spirt, the silent screams that haunt my heart, and the tears that scald my cheeks. There are no words.

There is only an abyss of unknowing, a pit of despair, and the unanswered question: Why?

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