you wake up one day and find your son is dead he did his best to get your attention but you squandered it all away thoughts of “could have” and “should have” fill your head with disease scrambling desperately to cover up the mistakes searching for anything to dampen the memorises that burn in your soul a soul that ebbs and flows like tide good one moment, disaster incarnate the next one day it hits you the pile of junk that was used for distraction it is rotting, causing the memory to intensify the pile has become the reminder you begin to take the pieces off one by one “just rearranging the deck chairs” you think to yourself but it doesn’t matter at the time it always feels like doing something helps the pain tired from your labors, sweat drips down your leg you find a shady spot to think about the origins of pain “it only exists in your head” you tell your self you know this and yet this time it doesn’t help there is something missing a ritual some conviction some peace in the fact that you are left with other choices but you decide you do not want that peace and quite yet the pain is not complete it is only a constant whisper when you want it to be an anvil dropped from ten stories up leaving no doubt that it is what it is you want to feel it completely so you can let go one day knowing full well that letting go is not what you are good at you fear it you fear it because if you can let go then you will be able to understand how others do the same and that is an understanding you never wanted to know you sit, in the shade, listening to the whisper touching the side of your cheek the tears come and you are stuck in your miserable comfort zone again