Once you have seen those you knew all your life bereft of life anymore you can then understand how precious a thing this thing called life is. To pluck the tiniest of hairs from one’s living head seems a miracle. Something that is a marvel of being. So many little incidental insignificant things that those rare off moments provided to eye and spirit. Their loss rests beyond the widest valleys of imagination. Those tender moments and endless possibilities each one unique and crystal. The ‘should’s‘ and ‘going to’s‘ placed at the feet of fickle indecision’s deferred. An endless chandelier of sparkling shimmering points taken and then surrendered to dulled gray matter. Precious beyond reason. Each moment a drop of eternity caught in the seeming illusion of lasting forever. Yet wasted each instant for a bankrupted infinity of the same. All served up to an ‘all too recall-able‘ dead flesh inert in a lifeless mask that once dropped becomes shattered and irrecoverable. Opportunities once freely squandered now lost beyond remorse. That one tiny artifact surviving specimen of proving a former existence so small and insignificant. Impossible to believe that its home no longer exists. The possessions of its owner gathering dust in locked by past prearranged habits that you dare not touch. A footprint in the sands in time going too long undisturbed by an unsupportable convention that absent footsteps hopefully yet again be heard. Sweet melancholy music summoning the heart for a moment from its fitful slumber. Old flickering actors from a time before your own having then to serve as a generic canvas upon which to paint one’s hopeless dreams. For the possibility of another fleeting instant to be inexplicably there again as once it had been so long before. Waiting too for that mighty wind of irrevocable change. A wave to sweep the cluttered coast clean to commence once more. Or simply fail, once again, to pull through.
The Anatomy Of Grief