Love's loss, time's wound, a powerful, powerless, aimless, aching wellspring. Grief is an outpouring of emotion, a scattering of words: enough emptiness to fill a world.
Four and a half years ago Charlie breathed and breathed no more, slept and slept no more, was and was no more.
You'd think I'd get over it; he was just a dog.
And I can't. I try, and I can't. Surely I can have no tears left; yet I cry on.
Grief claws into my soul: if I lie still, he goes deeper; if I struggle, deeper still. I hardly dare think of Charlie now because of this pain; so grief robs me twice of my friend, my companion, my shadow.
Love is... my dog.
Grief's a bitch.
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