I despise the word 'loss",
it implies that something CAN be found,
but I know that I will
Never find you again.
So, next time you see me crying on the street,
don't tell me your sorry for my loss
because
I know your words like the back of my hand,
stolen from a card,
not given by the heart.

I think of the Mountain where my fantasies began,
the falling snow and light clouds float above me,
the great creatures I see and listen intently to.

The path I create up this great void is the path which has been chosen for me. A dead end maybe, but a path none the least.

I hear the birds sing their songs of grace and I hear the hoarse voices of sheep pass by me.
All I see is blue.
Blue sky, the sun hurts my eyes so I look away, a common habit, for I know the pain is not real. It is only an illusion of my past life.
The path I have carved,
the creatures I have had to face, listen to and speak to are all I hear now.
Silence. Darkness falls now. My heart sighs for I know that this Darkness will be forever, never to see the light of the sun again. Darkness. Relief. Finally.

Death.