Black Matter

People talk about the hole that's left when you lose a loved one.

It's not a hole, a hole suggests a nothingness.  What remains in me is something that contains its own gravity. Something so all encompassing it pulls at everything else, nothing is untouched by this dark matter. It's more a black hole; a heavy, powerful, swirling void that churns away inside trying to destabilise my grasp on life. 

It grows and shrinks of its own accord snagging at the torn edges of my true colour. Often the dark looks so comfortable I want to give in and let it take over, enveloping me in a blanket of black velvet. But a black hole isn't peaceful, it wouldn't provide me with the restful escape it seems to promise. I have to run to the light, so it's important I keep recognising who and what shines a light for me. The brighter the light the less power the black matter. 

Sometimes I feel like one of those wobble toys and the dark matter is the weight in my core, something keeps knocking me sideways but for now I rock back up again. 

I know given time I will have more control over the dark matter, squashing it into a recess, but it will always be there, spinning with an unstoppable force waiting for an opportunity to spill out into my universe.

I have to recognise it for what it is - I can't pretend it's not there - but it is only me. I know it can't be the hole left by José because my husband was a positive force. I must stay positive to honour his memory.