I keep the curtains drawn and pull the covers back over my head. The sun peers through the window but I prefer dark skies. I have tried to medicate my pain away, but the numbness only makes things worse. At least with the grief, I know that I am alive. I walk around as if I am not with in my own skin. I see , I hear and know, but it is as if I am a spectator in my own life. I shuffle through my existence hoping that perhaps I will just quietly fade away like shadows of the day. I pass a mirror and I see the outer image of what the world sees, but behind the image I project, my eyes strain to hold the tears that are always present inside of me.