It ain't Fuchs
Assigning the right grief to something, not simply what we feel is the "right amount" can be just as important.
The right grief is the grieving of a death. Mourning a person I can only miss because they are simply no longer there. A persona, a thing, an exterior, that once housed a caring creature, got so frightened that it fully consumed it's host...
You can't warn others of such a puppet when you're it's only prey either, you simply avoid it's feeble claws now. "It's a damn shame that they did it to themselves" you think... But nothing's confusing anymore, because the one you loved is dead, and a thing goes out and does it's job and feeds it's dogs. Ephemera of the internal, eternal being.
Today I let my heart out with something I'm really proud of, an attempt to capture and celebrate the genuine. It crystallized beautifully, selfishly, and brings me to tears the more I watch it repeat. A hot prick to my blood, not writhing away from the needle, proof that I'm all there...
It's a damn shame...