Mourning

Mourning.

Mourning is like a river. It takes you under its powerful, raging rapids. To the darkest, deepest depths. And you lose the strength to swim as it sweeps you along, like a helpless drowning insect struggling against its tide.

Mourning is like a dark starless night. Leaving you blind to all else and afraid of what lays ahead.

Mourning is like a long hard winter. Where nothing seems to survive the harsh cold. It freezes you to the core and leaves you petrified. Suspended in time.


Mourning is like a river. It swells and rages in places and then dwindles and calms in others. Making peaceful gurgles as it rolls gently over your toes that you can dip in to feel its cold waters.

Mourning is like a dark starless night. Where the daylight creeps in, silently, but predictably. Illuminating things that felt frightening with warmth and light, even though the darkness will come again.

Mourning is like a long hard winter. That eases slowly to reveal the life hidden all along under its icy crust. Blossoms will bloom and warmth arrives again, in time.