My problem was I had too much beautiful.
Too beautiful, too fulfilled, lived in beauty, raised in beauty, and was too self-satisfied to make any kind of real sacrifice.
I was too beautifully fulfilled to bother with anything of substance beyond hollow praise and easy come, easy go positive self-reinforcement.
I thought I had it all.
It’s dark and I’m searching for my wine bottle.
Who am I hiding from?
Is the denial of grief like a ship docked on dry land for too many days?
Am I afraid that grief is such a deep well that if I look into that well, I will falter?
Am I alone at this depth?