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Grief is a grind. It is the work of breathing and waking and rising and moving through a world that feels emptier. A gaping hole has been torn into your existence, and everyone around you just walks right past it like it’s not even there.
Apparently absence makes the heart grow horny.
So when will I forgive myself and be about the business of making the life I deserve, even when I don’t feel I do deserve that life?