The Look

I think it's hard for some to look at me, and even harder to talk to me. I am the personification of pain. I am walking sorrow. I think I have become defined by your death. Even people that don't know seem to feel that something is different. I think that it must be the collective consciousness at work. I think that many people can't come to me because their brain won't let them. The brain's job is to protect the body from pain. I am painful because I hold a loss so piercing that people can feel the stab of my grief with a simple glance. I have to live with this sting. I cannot out run it, I cannot turn away from it, I cannot change the subject. You are my life upon waking. You are my life as I sleep. Frost, you are a life never realized. If someone else was your mother, if someone else lost you, I too would guard myself from the most helpless of sadnesses. I think that maybe some brains are better at allowing one to heal and coping with pain. It's so hard to know what to do when faced with heartache, whether it be your own or the heartache of another. There is one happiness I embrace and that is the fact that you were beautiful and you were real. So real that I believe that I will meet you someday. My love for you is overwhelming. Maybe if people look close enough they will find that love and smile at its purity. A love so genuine that healing is certain. Maybe someday I'll be a reminder life instead of death. When my eyes are smiling again it will be because your love has helped me to heal.
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.