If only, if only, I could cure all hurt.

Sometimes, it’s easy to forget the intrinsic nature of this; the constant cycle of life and death, death and life. 

And it’s easy to ask, why? 

Why me, why now, why this. 

Loss is something almost impossible to grasp. It leaves this gap, this blackened hole, that you can’t fill with words or tears or human touch. It stays and it grows, feeding on grief and despair. 

And, when you love someone, their loss becomes yours; objectively, yet subjectively, you feel it. It’s like, somehow, through your empathy, it’s seeped into you. 

It’s impossible to shake.

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