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Sometimes certain things happen, and you feel like no, time should not go on after this. There should be no recovery. The seconds should not count anymore; days should not pass. Especially when you are in the eye of that storm, in the centre of that tragedy. You know that the world does not deserve to move on, that this is not something that should be ‘moved on’ from. If you could you would freeze frame. Forever. No escape from this hell.
There is something brutal about time, the way it marches on regardless of what you are feeling, regardless of what you have done or will do. Regardless of how much you cry or fight, or of how little. Time keeps ticking, the seconds will keep passing. And nothing can stop this. Your pain will be buried, the people that cry with you in the beginning will run out of tears and so will you. Duty will call: mouths to feed, businesses to run, babies to make. Lives to live. They will move on, and so will you. Maybe you will be left with a scar, an indelible mark, or maybe just a little twinge in one part of your chest, to remind you of the things that have gone before. But your life will continue. Or maybe it won’t. Either way, life will continue. The world will turn. Sunrise, sunset. Time.
But the thing that is brutal about time is also the thing that is healing about time. Memories fade, faces become blurs, scars seem to blend in with skin. You become expert at working around your pain, so well that you barely know it’s there. If you’re lucky, maybe it stops being there.
At first you hate people for forgetting. And then you hate yourself when you realise, always a little late, that you too are starting to forget.