[His arm is up to his face now to wipe at the tears that had come unbidden. When would he run out of them? It feels, to him, as if he has been in the depths of sorrow for an eternity. He only shakes his head silently. It won't be OK; they'll pretend it's OK; they'll say it's better that he's at home; they'll say to themselves that they have accepted it and it is OK.
All he knows is that there's a hole in his heart that will never be filled again. It will only be patched over.]
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All he knows is that there's a hole in his heart that will never be filled again. It will only be patched over.]