The Years To Pass

~~In the days that would come to pass after the death of my beloved grandfather, I would rapidly realize the depth at which my heart grieved. I could no longer hold my head above the clouds nor could I hold my shoulders tall like the great pines. My face held no interest nor did my posture show any such enthusiasm that would lead any one of my fellow associates to believe that I was thrilled to have my own office or even the promotion received not but three weeks prior to the day. If one of my friends was to call me, ask me to join them in their daily afternoon antics, I would abruptly refuse them and send them on to their excitement filled lives’ everyday schedule of coffee, work, rest, or play. Only once have I gone to a place other than the office with its tiny, insulated, plain walled cubicles. That only circumstance was when my grandfather’s grave needed tedious tending and newly picked fresh flowers.

~~Although I missed my grandfather and although everything was falling down around my secluded mind, I could not give up my life entirely, so, I continued my job at the office. I continued the long overhaul of shifts, hours and hours of paperwork and computer screens. What else was there that I could do? I could barely hold myself together. I was falling apart at the very seams upon which my soul and inner emotions were sewn. My life was eternally altered. And not just in the simple fact that my grandfather was gone. The entire of my family had faded into that great emptiness of existence’s historic legacy. They had left me here on this hatred reigned earth to fend for my own self. No help. No sense of connection. No meaning. No feeling of belonging to this place which I was trapped within for the remainder of this life that I was being forced to live.

~~Each morning consisted only of waking to the icy air, breathing in the coldness of my heart, rising from my brick wall of a bed, and emptily pulling my person into a weak frame then stitching it only enough to hold it together for one more brutal day. The nostalgic wonderings of my thoughts were not permitted, but only the fire of whiskey dared to contain those thoughts inside fragile boundaries. The bitter fumes of alcohol were seldom noticed on the air of my breath but it’s spell remained, spinning my thoughts into wisps of pink and blue cotton candy.