I’ve seen more madness, sickness and blame-gaming on my television in the last month than I ever want, or wanted to see. If my two long-gone but not forgotten dear souls had not had a gun/longarm/whatever, their despair would not have turned so final, deadly. Every horrific image flickering by my eyes re-opens the two wounds in my heart, two different souls, now fled from the same pain, leaving holes in my insides that get ripped open, the sorest of sores, with every single image. I cannot look, but it’s like an empty socket, after the toothache is gone, still the phantom pain. Maybe this time, the pain will lessen, and be gone.
It haunts me, until I shut the television off. But their faces linger through the day. Make it go away, inwardly, I scream. No one hears that scream, but me. Paste a smile on, go about the day. Sadness is an ocean, deep and wide. And cold.