Grief is a sneaky, nefarious knave. Insinuating himself as nostalgia then assaulting full-force as one’s protective garb rattles to the ground.
Evicted after a vicious, exhausting battle, he retreated into the morning’s sunlight. 56 more words
“Are you ok?” worry infusing each word.
Perplexed, “I’m fine”.
“Well, I read your blog.”
Mind racing, screaming silently, “What alarm was triggered?”
“Oh, that was just….” and I provided context – the trickling, incessant daily minutia eroding joy, its rubble blocking light and air. 89 more words