The Wall

Sometimes I think the body knows before the mind does. I’ll be irritable for no reason. Can’t sleep. Everything feels tight. Music hits wrong. Patience goes missing. Then I check the calendar and there it is — some date, some milestone, some invisible thread tied to the worst period of my life. It’s like grief installed its own operating system in me and runs background processes I didn’t authorize. I find that almost insulting. Like I don’t even get full control over my own emotional weather anymore. There are traps in the year. Landmines in the seasons. My body remembers what my conscious brain hasn’t lined up yet. And once I realize it, part of me is relieved because at least there’s a reason. The other part is pissed off because apparently I’m not just living life now. I’m also carrying an internal alarm clock wired to loss. No wonder I’m tired. No wonder some days feel cursed before breakfast. No wonder I can’t always explain myself.