LOSS

Some losses are big, some small. They may leave you unaffected, too. But when they leave you scars to look for, only then you realise how good the bare skin felt. Those burns need no ice. You don't want to feed them a thing. Because all the sick, forgotten memories do not seem to be tainted to you then. And the regrets, that come along, are pressing to you. They give you your loss's last words. And suddenly you want to do nothing but hear them. Hear them all. No, you're not looking for some solution on the slate. You aren't looking for a shoulder either. All you want then is a word that would tell you if souls do talk. The thing about connection is that it may be weak, may be strong, may be distorted, but it's there. It is always there. Even if you aren't holding onto it, it's all there. And when you finally lose the connection, someday, you still can't tell if it has all gone away. No, you don't ask for much then. You know not how to fix it all. You just yearn for a final goodbye. That's all that can help you sit and relax beneath that stiff shell. Mourning is not good enough. Your loss hasn't shifted a bit. But you mourn. Inside-outside-all the time. You don't want to show. You want to let go. Mourning helps then. But mourning is not good enough. You still mourn. It is all so annoying. But nothing seems annoying anymore. Your loss may even be mocking at you. But you're there. You don't want to leave. You want to take all that you can in those last beeps. Machines are not a thing to rely on. Life is never a thing to rely on. The thing about living and dead is that we care way too much for the dead. If only we cared for the living, too.