It was so heavy. So solid. So very permanent.
She couldn’t hold it; it was like some kind of weight attached to her soul, something that she did not remember inviting inside, and yet there it was. Sitting. Weighing. A weight.
When she tried to lift it, to release just a bit of the pressure and find a way back to a sense of normalcy, it wouldn’t budge. It never did.
She could cry, but was that weakness? She could scream, but was that childishness? She could struggle, but was that wastefulness?
The truth was…there was no right answer. No wrong answer. And that was the most damning thing of all. Without an idea of where to turn, what to do, how could she possibly hope to rid herself of this weight?
Instead, she sat. She waited. She dreamed (nightmares). Perhaps the answer would come in the morning.