Why does it sting so? I'm familiar with loss, more than most. I've held dying men in my arms in far off lands. I've lied to those who lay, mortally wounded as I work, assuring them they would "make it home." I suppose that wasn't a complete lie they did make it home, albeit in a flag draped metal box. Why does this loss bother me so??
The connection was real, wasn't it? I made a mistake, but then opened up and my inner being was set free from it's Cage again. The passion, want and desire flowed through these veins again. I felt fulfilled. I was alive. Then with a few words, it collapsed. Back into the box again with you. Back into the "real world" with you. Back into the deep, dark mundane.
Nothing peach moonshine won't cure right? Nothing the Braves game won't soothe..
But it's morning and here I am again..
Reality is a harsh mistress...