One of Those

Just to be clear, there are days that are gray.  There are days when the bolt is empty and every moment goes entirely unlined, days when the metaphorical silver doesn't make an appearance, doesn't even pause to say hello.  There are days that sever every stitch of comfort we may have managed to seam around ourselves, and days when sorrow's stake on our hearts is driven deeper.  There are days we do not keep calm and we do not want to carry anything, let alone on.  Days when we feel like we're being held up by one string, and we have to avoid people who carry scissors, whose words -no matter how well-intentioned- cut.  There are days stacked with intense sadness, days when emotions keep a busy schedule of up and down.  Days when we're terrified, desperate, poised to sell our souls, days when we surely leave palpable clouds of melancholy in our wake. 
We don't often write about the days that feel heavy, that have more darks than lights.  We don't usually blog about the days when we feel gray and crumpled, like used tissues, mouths sagging at the corners, faces made ugly by grief.  But we do have them.  Boy, do we have them.

 JEB