I rock back and forth, grasping my knees, humming a disjointed tune in a pitiful attempt to comfort myself. As I sob, the most hideous, pitiful sounds exude out of my mouth--moans of intense, extreme loss. I seriously look like I belong in a mental hospital. It scares me, really, but the rocking and moaning are calming to me, so I continue until my body has exhausted itself and surrenders to sleep.
God, I don't even know how to talk to you, or what to say anymore. But I refuse to stop talking to you. I will continue to come into our presence even when I have nothing to say because I do not want to wonder into worthlessness. Let me come to you in silence. Let me come to you in tears. Let me come to you with a lack of speech, and just sit quietly in your presence.