It’s been three weeks since the love of my life died. Three entire weeks of grief. You begin to think this will go on forever, and it probably will, but even over these three short weeks, the grief has changed.
The hole in my heart is no longer a sucking chest wound, but more of a dull, throbbing, occasional pain like a toothache that’s not quite at catastrophic failure yet. It’s there and you rarely forget it, but it’s not the focus of your universe anymore. I can sometimes go a few hours before my brain matter-of-factly reminds me, “he’s gone.”
“He’s gone,” and with those words whispered in my brain, comes a dull, throbbing pain in the center of my chest.
I haven’t cried. I think I’ve cried all the tears I’ve been allotted this year already and it’s only April. I haven’t even had the random tears rolling…
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