MICROFICTION

Eventually, I Shall Return

From grieving to living life

When friends see me, they ask me how I’m doing. I grit my teeth and lie; I tell them I’m fine. I am getting better every day.

They say it takes time, or it’s all god’s will, or some other meaningless platitudes. They mean well, as they may have walked through their personal version of this hell. But I own this hell. It is mine.

How have I migrated from grief to return to life? I haven’t. Not yet.

In my heart and soul, living my life is my mecca. I am on a pilgrimage to it. It’s been more than 40 days in this desert of grief. Maybe it will take 40 years, and in that case, I may only reach the gates.

Outwardly, I've built a better mask for the concerned — my friends and family. I’m working on living, though. Day by day, the cover fits better. Eventually, it will work so well that my smiling face will replace my crying face.

Eventually, the birds’ song will bring joy, not despair.

Eventually, my smile will be unforced — free and happy.

Eventually, I will rejoin the world — at one with myself.

Eventually, I shall return.

Eventually.

But not today.

I was inspired to write this story by the following writing prompt.

Paul Mansfield is a writer, a photographer, a guitar player, a philosopher — some he does well, some not so well, but he still tries them all.

You can follow him on Twitter @pmansfield.

If you liked this story, you might also like this poem: