The morning after the day she died…

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That annoying bird that always sits on the branch near my window, chirping happily is there again. Damn. I hate birds.

One would think that the dreadful creature would read the atmosphere and let me wallow in misery, peace and quite and all other fun stuff that come with a  mourning package.

But I already realized that world does not care about an insignificant loss of one life. What is it in comparison to thousands, billions of people walking the Earth?

The loss is important only to those who knew her. I’m starting to feel like it’s important only to me. I pull all my strength to face this day. I wonder how strong I have to become to get up every morning without feeling like I run a mile with a ton of bricks on my back. I wonder when it gets easy again.

I wonder if it ever does.

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