Grief has become like a second skin.

I remember in a discussion about personal space, a friend in the Middle East said personal space ends at your skin. I laughed in horror, and decided she won. As though personal space may be a challenge in Indonesia, it did not end at my skin.

Oh how I wish grief ended with my skin. However, it has in fact become like a second skin. 

Still gasping for breath/air from a previous loss, the air is sucked out of my chest from another and another.

I’ve shared the metaphor/analogy of grief being like floating in the sea. Sometimes the waves just gently lapping, motioning you forward and backwards like a liquid lullaby. Then before you know/ then as quickly propelling you closer to shore.

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