I admit defeat. I’m longing. I’m rushing. I’m pulling back again. I’ve avoiding writing about the feeling of longing. I hang onto it with white knuckles grasping at the throat of everything I once knew. It’s already dead and I wasn’t the one to strangle it- I promise it killed me first. I’m calm, but I’m a storm. Waves of grief stir through me- sadness wakes in the belly of it all and I’m home in the chaos. The other day- I thought of when I asked you about life getting hard. Why it had to shift so soon. If things would ever feel the same. Your silence was so loud. It still is. -AMT©️