love in the time of diarrhoea

Ever since my previous post , I’ve carried a peculiar kind of guilt. The sort that whispers that perhaps I should be done by now. That the world has moved on, and surely I ought to have followed suit. That I am clinging too tightly to my mother’s absence, as though grief were a garment I refuse to take off. But the truth is this: it will be a long, long time before I am even remotely okay. I…