There is a deafening ache that pulses heavily beneath my chest.
A hollow rib cage with burdening insulation to keep -- to keep what warm?
This ache breaches my veins and swims towards the back of my head and slithers to the forefront of my mind
A traveling disaster determined to construct chaos.
For what is tragedy if there is no consequence?
For what is tragedy if there is no consequence? An event.
A simple sequence in the timeline. Irreversible and entirely permanent in the soul of passersby. It wasn’t supposed to linger. It wasn’t supposed to stay.
And yet, here it is, several years later and embedded deep within me. How can something feel there when it isn’t? How do you feel the presence of an emptiness? It’s gastly and stupidly familiar.
The point of loss is just that.
I never really was a winner. But I never lost either. I was simply there; ready to blend into the walls of humanity and carry through to the end of a constant stream.
Except, when loss came, it came right for me, no matter where I hid; no matter what I did to try and win; no matter what this ache said to me before loss was even truly there.
It came and it took
It came and it took and it took
It came and it took and it took and it took.
So, that leaves us here; redefining loss as an epiphany in the moment.
Where did that ache first come from?