How is it possible that one can hurt so much for that which has never been seen?
Why can an existance of miniscule proportions create such a huge hole in the fabric of my life?
Am I simply mourning a dream?
Will I always be haunted by the fears that my tired brain cannot censor away?
Will life ever be as it was?
Would I have given this up if it meant not knowing this pain?
To the last one, at least, I have an answer: No.
4 comments:
Sweetie, sending you hugs and love. Okay, BIG hugs and BIG love!
I think we will always think back on tragedies that happen to us, but eventually, we get to a place where we don't think about them all the time. Its ok not to be there yet.
Love. Prayers.
I love you sis.
Not that this answers any questions, but since you like Pooh, and this is true, here you go.
"'Sometimes,' said Pooh, 'the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.'"
— A.A. Milne
Post a Comment