It seems obscene that the human body is capable of producing so much grief without shriveling up completely to grant some sort of ending release.
My brand of strength is nothing more than a coping mechanism, a way to survive. I rise above the sadness by smothering it with shame, but it’s always there, growing with every disappointment and heartbreak.
Now I spend each day just trying to make it to the next, one after the other, until I finally reach the point where everything hurts a little less. I would give anything to stop missing you.