This is the End.

There is a mysterious beauty to grief, a magic that casts itself like a glue between the tragic and the hopeful. There is a change that comes with feeling every emotion possible, a change that could never have otherwise emerged. From where I stand I see the path of my change - like a silvery trail left by a snail - weaving it’s way over canyons of darkness, up mountains of steep terrain. From where I stand I can see the person who started the journey; she’s a different colour and a different shape than me, she knows the journey has to begin, but has no idea the depths it will take her. ⁣
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The mysterious nature of grief is that it is never over, never completed, never put down.... and never the same. The woman I see across the canyon believes that her grief will destroy her, it will suffocate and swallow her. ⁣
It will be the end of her. ⁣
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And I want to reach across the void and touch her with my hand, and tell her what I finally know to be true.⁣
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Yes. This is the end of you. ⁣
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And after the terror of stripping away the most familiar, the end is magic. Its a rare and beautiful thing to emerge from great despair and be forged new.