There is a type of cry reserved for the dead. Devoid of hope, this lament exists outside of space and time. A sadness that connects to every sadness, it wrenches from our deepest parts, it shakes us from our skin. It is a sorrow that separates those who know from those who don’t, forever.
I do not cry for you in this way until this day has passed. I stare straight ahead, unblinking, all afternoon.