*Crunch*
*Crunch*
I know that sound.
I love hate that sound.
The reassuring noise of the gravel beneath me as I walk deeper into my own labyrinth.
God “the pit of my stomach is a dark fucking place.”
I guess some days, months, years ……
No!
Some lives are just more challenging overall.
Eventually it has to stop hurting this bad.
Right?
I sat in bed.
Once again with tears streaming down my face.
This time though was not for the longing of him.
It was the realization that my life is still ebbing.
Even as I demand my mind to still.
Even as I stare down from the top of grief wave 2754728653891064365634738.
Even as I was so sure my soul was calming.
Finally.
I didn’t cry for loss of others.
I was crying for loss of me.
Yet another part of me releasing that horrid death rattle.
Will I ever be free of that damn vibrating guttural eruption?
Try not to lie to me or yourselves when quietly responding in your head.
If you have been so fated to hear that clatter you know that you carry it throughout each day.
You’ll hear it in the most inconspicuous of times.
Resonating from the very ground beneath you.
Echoing in the water hitting the tile.
Crying as it whips the leaves with a gust.
Whispering through the fire.
I hear that god forsaken rattle.
Question is:
Is it my rattle?
Or yours babe?
*Crunch*
*Crunch*
*Crunch*
The Optimistic Widow 