How does time seem to stop when suffering. Those minutes and hours and days become infinite.

The end unreachable. That never ending marathon of grieving. Was there a finishing line?

Lethargy wouldn’t allow my spirit to soar to that final lap.

That once vital life I shared with so many had fallen to indifference and melancholy.

Melancholy? That was a term for the elderly. My grandmother suffered from this, certainly not me?

This state of mind I want to deny. Depression.