Losing

Been thinking a lot about loss lately.

It occurred to me that what precedes loss is the act of losing. Losing life. Losing love. Losing hope. Losing vision—the ability to see forward. Whether it’s sudden or a slow-motion destruction, it’s the seemingly unstoppable kind of loss I’ve been fixated on. There’s no choice—it’s lost.

Losing. Lost. Loss. Loser.

Nothing can prevent a heavy spirit. Nothing can remove the sting of realizing that there’s nothing left to save.

"Go through it to get through it." That’s the motto I’ve told myself as I fumble and grapple with emotional waves that feel larger than me. I tell myself everything will be fine, even as the plan I had crumbles. The scaffolding of my hope no longer holds weight. I search for pieces of a puzzle that will never be found.

Dealing with loss is the art of saying goodbye to what was, to what could have been, and learning to let go. It’s one skill I’ve yet to master. I need help to stop the torment of trying to solve the unsolvable. No calculation will ever explain the intensity of losing—or the longing that follows.

Only time and perspective can give me back what I’m missing—the space to hope and dream of a life that feels bigger than today.