Missing Carl

Sometimes, not always, there are these sharp moments where it seems the world is spinning so beautifully around me. It’s too much, and I want to inhale deeply to take it all in, but the constriction in my chest reminds me he is missing. Then I force another breath and am filled with — nothing. Because it is just air.

It’s all so unoriginal, so uninteresting. I’ve taken to rereading A Grief Observed as if the fifth or sixth time would reveal new insights.
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