The Rants and Raves of a Wounded Widower
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This was always written in the dead of the night, when those who have lost loved ones are always awake, when the only sound you hear is your own pitiful breathing wishing that your time was up so you could take your broken heart and join that loved one. It's the time when your tears can cover your face without having fear of being judged; it's the time when the real you is on this cursed Earth. You don't have to play make-believe every time you are asked, "Are you okay?" to which you lie, "Yes," with a smile and a burning pain that never leaves your body but only intensifies as the day gets lo...
This was always written in the dead of the night, when those who have lost loved ones are always awake, when the only sound you hear is your own pitiful breathing wishing that your time was up so you could take your broken heart and join that loved one. It's the time when your tears can cover your face without having fear of being judged; it's the time when the real you is on this cursed Earth. You don't have to play make-believe every time you are asked, "Are you okay?" to which you lie, "Yes," with a smile and a burning pain that never leaves your body but only intensifies as the day gets longer, meanwhile those that ask are going home to their happy families. That's the actor by day and widower by night.
