The void in my belly is still growing. I am going to combust, disintegrate or melt into an incoherent lump of… what? Fear? Grief? Anger? Frustration? God! This is so hard! My personal space becomes smaller and smaller so I don’t break apart, shatter in pieces and never come out of the black hole swallowing me. Looking out I see the sun, but I can’t go there, into the world, where everything hurts. I may morph into a quivering wet snowflake about to disappear like yesterday in the grocery aisle and later in the restaurant, the car, and the car again, when I crashed into the sounds of Clapton’s “Old Love”riffs, ripped to shreds on its strings. Choking. I want to wretch this suffocating thing in my throat, breathe and stop translating all things into tears.