Death has a way of leaving only raw actualities where pretenses once stood. Dousing us in rigid truth. Pushing the individual into reaction.
It took me a few days to register it, unaccustomed to being endlessly agitated. Yet there is was, a feeling that I could not suppress: fury.
The unquenchable and terrifying feeling churned within me, seeping deep into the core of my being. Hollowing me out until all I could do was weep at the sheer emptiness it left.
You are alone, my fury hissed. You are unloved and alone.
I listened faithfully, falling deeper into the solitude I had created for myself. I was hurting, alone, and angry, yet completely aimless – lost in every sense.
So I reached out, forcing myself into motion. Unable to bear my incredible rage any longer. Needing to do more, to be more, and with this, a new sense of worth was brought about. Self worth, grown from the burrows of self loathing and hate. The most formidable terrain to harvest any love.
Burned away were the façades that once held together the pretense of my existence, by a spark of pure and indescribable grief. Leaving barren lands, to angry winds.
Yet love was the outcome.
Love rose from the ashes.
Love for family, friends, and – for myself.