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I needed to write something so gut wrenchingly sad even the devil would feel pity. Sadness so precise and deep it feels engineered in the quiet labs of forgotten gods. Pain so articulate it teaches language how to stutter. So sad even hope arrives here with a funeral arrangement already prepared. The kind of sadness that makes memories plead for asylum. A suffering so clean it leaves no fingerprint for healing to work with. But there was no inspiration. Then, suddenly, I remembered you. And something sharp moved through me, brief but exact, like a fault line snapping inside the chest. For a second, everything tightened so violently I had to remind myself in that same split instant that it is not my time yet. Not yet. Oh grief, why hast thou chosen me? Why do you wear my life like a garment you refuse to return?