Title Unknown

I enter a bookstore and am transported into the possibility of other worlds. I like books for this reason. I can be happily lost there. And for some time now, lost is where I have been. And not so happily.
Life, as we know it here, is a great and wonderful gift. And to relish its greatness we occasionally must know grief.
Grief is a burden, a tonnage that we each know in our own ways. No one else can lift that burden and drag it along for us. I usually choose to leave grief on its own deep shelf. But occasionally, like Pandora's box , it explodes and out it comes. It leaps before the words on the pages I'm reading, it sits on my chest when I gaze at awe inspiring views, it leaks around my eyes when I sit beside loving friends.
And like my books, I know there is an end. But getting through those heavy chapters....I'd just as soon skip that part.
Grief dissected dissolves into rage, and depression, and loneliness and rejection...all negative. I'd rather linger over the chapters that describe beauty and solace and peace.

We would like to be shown the happy title of our life story. Instead we can only create one chapter at a time. And occasionally we must examine the bleak to get to the end of the paragraph. And its like the un edited manuscript. There is no eraser so if you make a mistake...choose the wrong word...you can't take it back. For us in the here and now, the title is unknown .

What is all this? An outpouring of grief. An attempt to stuff bad ways back into the box. Why must you always have happy face on? Some days you just can't; some days the world just weighs a lot.