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What is grief but a farce?

Am I grieving? I can’t say I am. I am laughing as hard as I can and as often I can. I am nervous. I laugh easily, though not sure, entirely. I prefer my work over anything else, i.e. periodically calling my husband, chatting with my mum or dad or even meeting friends. I want to be busy. Right now I am writing to keep myself busy. I have furiously read three books back to back, hardly retaining most of it. Momentarily enjoyed their narratives and shed a tear or two where required.

I resorted to watching dumb Hindi soaps and poured out my time, and love for my canine friend. I keep assuaging myself I am physically fit, which I am, albeit overweight now. I am hyper. I react wildly to things that are of no consequence. For e.g. my husband eating up the chocolate bars I was so looking forward to. Was I, really? Not sure. However, angry I was. My hatred is stronger and so is my remorse.

I judge and I repent. Yet I refuse to forgive. Am I holding onto too much? Did it weigh her down?
I am not sleeping much either. I can’t. I can’t hold my thoughts for long. I have betrayed her. I can’t think of her in good light. I cannot think of her for long and I am not sending any blessings her way. 

Whenever I think of her unmarked grave, it’s hazy and I feel dead-sure that I won’t find her resting place. Right now it is not hurting as much as it should. I should have held her once.

I am fit as a fiddle. I am guilty. I killed her. Or maybe she simply died. Was it the rare Chinese food indulgence? My busy self at work? Or the long drives I insisted upon? Did I give up too soon? Was I more afraid of the pain I was going to be in? Was not convinced that I would be a good parent? 

Maybe I was too amused that she happened to me so easily. I never spoke to her enough. I never sang to her. I never bought the books or read as much as I meant to.

My over-analysis tired her of me.

I am jealous when I ask people about their kids. I am jealous when I see other little ones perfectly fine. How are they whole? So fine? She was whole too.

Introspection is not doing me any good. I cannot keep away from it even. Everything is a farce. Like my grief. They say I will move on. Time will heal. But why? I don’t want to heal. I want to hurt. I want to hurt badly. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. I want to be a wreck.


I am unable to be so. One more inability to feel. My only wish is to be able to undo it all. 
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(Image only for representation purpose. Copyright lies with the artist. Not Waving but Drowning Fine Art Print - Trudi Doyle)



He walked, bare feet, on a mass of crushed sea-shells Coarse sand clung onto him, he watched her Afar; sitting motionless on a wind-beaten rock As if waiting for knell
'Wosh-wosh' screamed the waves Gloriously furious, crashing on the moss-covered dock They came high, they came low Yet slow, the sea so magnificent they seemed insignificant He watched her, sitting motionless As if waiting for knell
Ominous clouds o'er head played hide-n-seek with the moon threatening to steal light till noon He prayed, she'd move and he'd take her away
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Him eager, she like waif, smiled
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Only to step deep into the waters
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(This is from a dream I had recently)