zombie breath

When I got the message, I burst into tears. I could hear my voice wailing, choking through a wave of sorrow.

Not this. Not now. Not her.

I didn’t have time to sit and mourn. I had to go to work. I had to be of service. I had to pull myself together. And I kept thinking, I feel like a zombie breathing. I was numb. Brainless. Yet I could feel each breath laboring as I strained not to burst into tears.

What’s worse, I saw the people that I knew loved her come up to me and ask me how I was, and I pretended I was fine and that I had nothing else worth mentioning. I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t be the one to tell them she was gone.

All that afternoon I could see her working beside me from precious memory — laughing and carefree and still with me on the inside.

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