They just lie there, waiting, staying low, ’till the time the levee breaks – and they finally let go of their cushy cubbyholes, to roll down a tapering path and eventually drop into non-existence.
Short painful lives, they live.
But its only with their end, that relief comes.
Grief has its many manifestations. Wild paroxysms. Mute sobbing. Chilling numbness.
Yet all culminate into the same end.
Which when unshed, cause the levee to be battered more and more with every passing moment, with every fleeing second. The numbness, the residual feeling of unreality, the compressing reluctance to not let go, the maddening indifference to the mourning going around – cracks spawning more cracks, ’till the time the levee breaks, once and for all.
And, all those bottled-up emotions burst out like a cork erupting from a bottle of champagne – pop.
Leaving behind the feeling of a burden lessened.