Well of Greif

An Introspective Rhetorical Evaluation of the Effects of Grief

Am I running?
Am I hiding?
Am I curling in on myself as a form of protection from the outside?
All the hurt, the pain, the death, and loss, all the numbness and hollowness, all the days spent on autopilot; is it all pointless?
Is it all wasted time?
Is it all wasted energy?
Are all the missed moments, all the missed opportunities, all the half-spoken truths and unspoken dreams, are they all – for nothing?
Is my only respite to be comforted by all of what could have been, by every what if, why didn’t I, and I should of?
Is my solitary mourning a twisted intervention by the person I should have been, by who I could have been?
Is the intent to save me or to silently watch me slip beneath the surface, drowning in awareness, smothered by understanding?
Am I to fade into the darkness, lamenting what is being done to me while knowing it is being done by me?
Am I destined to cry and wail into the face of my reflection, firmly undone by the truth that I am the only one here, that I am alone?
As curled up and protected as I seem, am I safe?
Have I, instead, exchanged safety for an illusion, a cell concealed behind a façade of protection and security?
Have I entrapped myself with comforting words whispering empty promises?
Am I a prisoner to my beliefs, fears, disappointment, and regret?
Am I able to even see the walls of my cell as they are, to know the truth of them?
If I could, would I escape?
Could I step back into the world from which I fled?
If I stay, am I content to slowly drift into shadow, unaffected and unremembered?
No.