On the way to poetry

Things don't echo. The moments in a life don't ripple, like they say. If I close my eyes I can't see some pattern - in-out, in-out, and one day when I wasn't around his chest failed to rise again. That's not how life works, though I can describe it that way to those who don't understand. Life just goes on. Grief is when you realise you've forgotten. The scream into nothingness, and the nothingness is waiting for you, too. I can scream and cry and take my grief and swallow it until the acid eats my gut but then...then I am the nothingness.