Soul-Weary

I feel so tired sometimes — soul-weary might be a better name for it, perhaps.  As though I were ceaselessly running, running, running; fighting to live selflessly, and better, and more wholesomely and guided by Someone other than myself . . . but sometimes I just want to sit and stare into space and envelop myself in nothingness.

I suppose I'm still working through grief.  And my way of handling grief is, well, to work.  Sitting and dwelling on loss doesn't bring anyone back, and it certainly does not restore what is broken.  It merely makes you more aware of the gap that used to be filled by someone — or, in my instance, someones.  In my estimation, it's the only healthy response.  "We can never go back to Manderly", as du Maurier immortally penned — so we've nothing left but to move forward.

But sometimes, alone, at night . . . Oh, how I miss them.