It's like a small, dark hole. Sometimes the edges are smooth and well-defined, sometimes ragged, stretching to encompass new and surprising things.
It never quite goes away. Most of the time I don't notice it, deliberately ignore it. Every once in a while it catches me off guard and I am swallowed whole, surrounded completely and overwhelmed. I sob; it does no good. This is not a hole to be filled and healed with tears. I pray; it does no good. This is not a hole to be filled and healed with faith. I wait.
This is a hole to wait out.
Six months later and the hole is still there. It's smaller now, the edges hard and set, bordered by resignation, hope, anger. I can step around it but must tread lightly to avoid falling into myself.
I wonder if it will ever be filled.
