I curl into myself, hiding from Diogo and the rest of the world. My only companion is a stoic bodyguard who watches expressionlessly as I struggle to cope with the death of a man that meant both nothing and everything to me. I spend my days on the roof, sitting listlessly under my birds, watching over them as they grow. Watching as my tomato plant grows. Maybe I'm trying to convince myself that fragile life is still possible. That we creatures bound to the Earth can still flourish in a hostile world.
There are so many different ways to grieve for those that pass. There is the moment of realizing someone isn't there anymore. This happens more often in the beginning, until you've trained yourself to recognize that they're gone. Then there's the ongoing constant tug at your soul as you try t
