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.
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