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Weekly Contest #40
It occurs to me that I grieve in small, acceptable amounts, such that are befitting a man, or at least a certain type of man. Far be it from me to mourn big and deep like one who’s lost and helpless and, perhaps, desperate. No, not me. Instead, I bury my sadness away and take it out to acknowledge it from time to time; I examine it and appreciate it at arm’s length, like I would an old family watch or a photo in a dusty scrapbook. I’m not proud of my way—trust me—but it’s all quite suitable for these masculine, ever-so-reserved emotions that...
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