Grey stone lay beneath my feet. My feet are cold and bare as the fog gently surrounds me in the frosty night. I look on in the patchy darkness, but my vision is obscured by the fog more and more. I settle myself down upon a rock by the big oak tree and I ponder life and my existence.
I miss you more and more.
Your death has made me hollow and changed me in a way that I don’t understand. People think that I am strange; I certainly have developed strange habits. I don’t take mourning you easily.
People tell me that as time goes by the loss of you will hurt less, or at least I’d learn to cope. But at the moment all I can think of is that it was only last week I saw you last, each day that goes on is more and more torture for me to bear, I can’t imagine not seeing you for a month, a year, a decade, half a century or however long I shall live.
Perhaps my new found madness shall kill me? If not that then the cold will.