“Tonight, all the hells of young grief have opened again; the mad words, the bitter resentment, the fluttering in the stomach, the nightmare unreality, the wallowed-in tears. For in grief nothing ‘stays put.’ One keeps on emerging from a phase, but it always recurs. Round and round. Everything repeats. Am I going in circles, or dare I hope I am on a spiral? But if a spiral, am I going up or down it? How often—will it be for always? —how often will the vast emptiness astonish me like a complete novelty and make me say, ‘I never realized my loss till this moment’?"
― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed
“Rejoice with glitters of ashes tonightSparkling for moon’s spiced silver biteUpon skin of darkness, loving night moreStorm begins unlocking cold wind’s door”
― Munia Khan