NATHAN CROWTHER

There are no words, languages, gestures or even thoughts that can express the pain of loss. It is so deeply aching and soul-wrenching with inordinate care, cutting slowly and painfully with the blunt side of the knife. The pain is phenomenal, incredibly painful, extraordinarily painful, fatally painful. It's pain, pain, pain, just pain. And it doesn't give in, it doesn't calm down, it doesn't give up. And the soul writhes, revolves, cries, screams and groans in dull moans that take over the body, make the spirit stagger and stun. The pain of loss has no sound, no voice, and invades the core of being silently and cruelly, making the body hurt and sick. It massacres the soul to such an extent that everything around it loses its meaning. Everything loses the glow of life. The eyes look but see nothing, the ears hear without hearing anything, the arms fall without feeling any support, any whisper of comprehension or understanding. Only the taste of the blood of pain is perceived in the de