The Architecture of Absence

A raw , philosophical reflection on grief, loss and the universal price of love

And suddenly when you lose a loved one, the cemetery isn't as scary as before; it might even become your new favorite place just because they are there. Although the place's you used to go with them feel grayer and they have lost the color it used to have. The coffee you drink in the morning isn't as enjoyable and the cigarette you're smoking isn't fooling you. You catch your self wanting to tell them about your day, only to remember midway that they are not longer here to listen. As the days,months,years go by you replay their voice in your head,terrified that one day you won't be able to remeber exactly how it sounded.
Even the air feels heavier ; like you are moving through water just to get to one room to another.Minutes stretch into hours,yet weeks fly by without be noticing , time has lost its rhythm. There is a strange comfort in knowing that they are at peace, even if that peace leaves you in pieces.
Maybe grief never truly gets smaller.We just learn how to grow around the giant hollow space it leaves behind.
We spend our entire lived fearing the end, forgetting that the wave doesn't die when it hits the shore; it just becomes the ocean again.
And to anyone reading this who is hiding behind a fading cigarette or a cold cup of coffee: I see you. You don't have to pretend that the world hasn't lost its color.