Cyclical Grief

I found myself at the edge of sanity.

—it toyed with me. The screams echoing in my subconscious boiled, until it reached my throat—cataclysmic, explosive pain, I, released. Unbridled.

”Do you know pain?” —it asked me. Its voice just as honey, dripping slow, curing this sickness. “why do you act as if you forget me?“

my eyes are burning. My lungs are ash, I, can’t anymore. I grip the sheets as I sob into them with all strength, the voices of sorrow spill into my pillow—I remember pain.

“Do you know despair?”—it seemed as if it was chiding me. How dare I forget this? How dare I forget the familiar dance with Death—how dare I forget its embrace, how dare I forget the wailing agony? I can’t catch my breath, the tears feel like glass.

”Do you remember silence? Do you remember nothingness? Emptiness?”

—every word is a memory. To the joy, to the laughter. The faces of each loved one past. The ones held dearly, the ones holding me, and now—I hold them, up, in conscious memorial. Every gasp is fire. Fury, anger, rage—how could you leave?! And forget me?! I remember!

And then… silence. The sobs stop. My face wet with grief, my eyes swollen and fat. I… sleep? How long has it been since I’ve slept? what is today, is today tomorrow, is it supposed to be now, where is it then?!

—I’m awake. The tears are dry. And *it* echoes to me a cackling goodbye. It knows it will be back. My sanity is granted once more. The day is here.