The Biggest Was

I don’t know what it is about loss.

It wipes out a portion of you, like the paint incidentally buffed away during a cheap carwash.

The struggle to smile feels like forcing yourself to work out again. No motivation, and you quit halfway through.

“Getting over” a loss, oddly, means letting it go or finding a way to keep it at a safe distance. Schedule visiting hours. Pretend you’re in control and it holds no power over you. When did the lack of something stop feeling like nothing? It’s here any time you need it, like the bakery case at 7-Eleven.

It isn’t what it was but it’s the biggest was you can think of.

Peaks and valleys are typical, but when you hit a peak and live there for a decade, you don’t expect to be shoved into a ditch. You think you’re stronger. That’s because you had a clear head when that thought took hold. Now that it’s become murky, you don’t think you’re strong, because none of your thoughts have a backbone. Your mind’s lit up only when a petulant child flicks the switch, and like every switch, it only goes in two directions. You can cry. You can laugh when you’re lucky.

A sudden loss robs you. There’s anger. There’s frustration. There’s unbelievable sorrow. You choke on all of it. Peace feels like fraud. You hate yourself through it. That new person is what’s left of the person you were before the loss. This new person doesn’t understand. This new person isn’t who you want to be.

I don’t know what it is about loss.

I don’t know why every happiness gathers moss.

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