Newton's First Law Of Motion

The loneliest moment in someone's life

isn't necessarily when their whole world falls apart.

It's when they are watching it fall apart

and all they can do is stare blankly.

Sometimes for a day.

Sometimes for weeks.

Sometimes for months.

Sometimes for years.

More often than not,

long enough

for what was once a life

to become the remnants of a lifetime.

Most people who you know and who know you,

won't ever know.

The ones who do, will tell you it'll pass. It'll all be fine.

They'll say it with the confidence

of people standing outside a burning house

knowing firemen are on the way,

explaining that fire is temporary.

And perhaps it is.

Perhaps they're right.

Perhaps tomorrow,

you'll wake up and discover

that the thing you thought was the end

was only another morning you didn't know how to survive.

But there are nights when none of that matters.

You lie there, staring at the stagnation

of the moving blades of the ceiling fan,

watching them go 

round

and round

and round,

and wondering

how something can move so much without going anywhere.

Slowly, the wondering stops.

Not because you've found an answer.

Because you've run out of questions.

And somewhere between one revolution and the next,

you slip from wondering to accepting 

that maybe

this isn't something you're passing through.

Maybe this is what remains.

Maybe this is the life

you'll remember

as the moment

your life stopped being something you were living

and became something you were watching.

Maybe this is how the dying watches life halt.