The Big Bang, part I.

No one has written the guidebook on grief yet, despite us all needing it a little. 

All you get are these ambiguous quotes about grief and love and their entanglement, about how you grow around the loss. Hollow you’ll always be at the core, but just like the universe you’re made from, you’re in a constant state of expansion. 

My hands hurt very much at the moment, I suspect it’s tendinitis. Against the rest I’ve been advised to get, I’m sitting at my desk jotting down these thoughts before they leave me. And I guess, it’s similar to what grief is. You’re in pain, but you keep going, because you have to, because if you don’t, then there’s no sure answer to what you’ll end up doing instead. 

Being a writer means possessing the ability to convey the feelings that brew in the heart of others, and if you are brave enough, in yours.

And since grief has encapsulated a huge part of my life, I’ve been trying to find different ways to tell you some of these stories and feelings, but amidst all the metaphors I can muster, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to be completely truthful about something I have yet to understand.

I’m aware that human emotions are complex, and you can’t press solve X, and you’re good to go, and I’ll probably spend my whole life trying to decipher how I feel, and maybe the metaphors will lessen, and the raw truth will come out, and it won’t be so uncomfortable to talk about this.

But until then, you’ll have my words with all their embellishments, giving you the beginning of the thread, as I lose the rest of it in the creases of my mind.