Awake again the infinite sadness envelopes me. Like an oversize blanket it folds itself around the extremities of my being. I listen to my wife’s steady breathing. The breathing of someone at peace with themselves. At peace with their life. At peace with God. A peace that overcomes. A peace that settles. A peace that supersedes the sadness. Sadness… The preserve of those at war with themselves. At war with their life. At war with the very God that gave them this life. A war that leads to insomnia and the need. The need, a gut wrenching turmoil of thoughts and feelings that leads to insomnia. That leads to war. That leads to sadness. No peace, no sleep, only sadness.

My wife, a hunter, a relentless pursuing tiger when she’s awake sleeps peacefully. Me, the easy prey, the weak victim lying awake. I am broken, though my tiger did not touch me. Torn to pieces yet my tiger did not pursue me. In a bloody heap on the floor yet my tiger did not devour me. It did… The sadness. Meticulously tearing me limb from limb, I let it. I always let it. Weak, too weak to fight it. Too weak against the onslaught of the seconds, the minutes, the hours, the days the weeks the months and finally, the years…

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