Death doesn’t hit you right away
It hits you in waves
First, disconnection
Oh, they’re dead
Mark it down in your mind
Think, cry, and stop
Then you think of them in the present tense
And reality hits again
You cry again. You stop.
It only really sinks in when you see others in mourning
Black-clothed figures around a casket
Speeches, about who they were and the potential lost
Then you cry. Properly cry.
And you never really stop.