I’m still heavy in my feels about Stella.
I don’t want to write about something else. I don’t want to move on. I don’t want to accept this new reality.
Whenever I do something distractionary, I feel fogged and heavy.
Whenever I rise from my chair or open the living room gate, I feel a nagging absence.
And whenever I think I’ve cried all I could cry—something arbitrary will make me cry some more.
This is the nature of grief.
No sense to be made. No lessons to be applied. No explanation that’ll do.
Just the weight of it all.
…And the understanding that this weight, now and in every bit of its crushing form, is the heaviest it’ll be.