There's a little boy in the center of my headspace. It's me, but as I was. The boy is crying because this is the fifth time he's been alone for this holiday. He's not alone in the headspace and somehow that makes it worse. The others are there with him. They're crying too, if they can. They remember the people they used to know, used to love, no matter what form that love took. The people that are gone now, most of them forever. 'It's not fair,' the boy says. 'Why should we have to be sad?'
The others have no answer. Time passes. Eventually the tears slow, then cease. The boy is still sad. 'It gets easier,' one of the others says. Another says nothing at all, simply enveloping them all in her arms. 'Some day," a third says, 'we'll sing from the rooftops for joy, not for despair.'
The boy believes it. I believe it.
