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.

Published by Eidyia

I am only three things for sure - an Atheist, a Feminist, and a Writer - one who obsesses over the grand themes of love, memory and connection.

2 thoughts on “Separated

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