the death of a loved one is a serious matter. this is my immediate thought when you are mentioned somewhere, sometime, somehow, in conversation. the death of a loved one, you would have said, is a serious matter.

you would have said, death is serious and grief is inevitable, but persist in finding the joy anyway; in defeating those dastardly tendrils of gloom that will threaten to pull you into the dark forever. outrun the shadows and find yourself always warm and well under the Sun’s guiding glow.

you would have said, let them judge your misery and misinterpret your intent: people will always be quick to call something wrong if they just don't understand it. You would tell me, always, not to care about the opinions of the masses anyway. 'So what?' You would say.

my phonetics professor said it too, one day, and I almost cried, the tears were rather stubborn in that moment, fighting my lashes for safe passage. To publicly showcase your grief, I think, is to do yourself more harm than good,

so bury you I will, within paragraphs like this, until, at the ordinance of the clock, I am to put away thoughts of death and sentiment, and instead, turn my face toward the Sun, to wash these blues in waves of gold, that I might find myself a part of life, and, that I might learn to love all things anew.