What more more would you add, Marcus, to the bubbling pot of alchemy that will transform this murky concoction of grief into effervescent joy?
Unless, of course, the pot is empty.
You think there is no sorrow? Just the absence of happiness.
Like darkness is just a period when we cannot see the light.
What if grief is the original energy and joy its ephemeral placeholder?
That’s why joy, like a pretender, begs to be shared while grief insists on being borne alone.
between two silences