wmhd

It hurts, you know? (No, you don’t know.) It hurts from the moment you are shaken out of sleep. Describable, but not communicable. So spare the platitudes. ‘You are not alone,’ you say. I could not be more alone, don’t tell me things that aren’t true. ‘Reach out,’ you say to me, abstractly; ‘reach out to those you care about,’ you say to others, abstractly. If you were there, you’d be there already, but you’d be there for someone who isn’t there. ‘It’s okay to not be okay,’ you say. Is it? At least there is completeness in it.