Surrounded by joy and laughter, but numb to the contented ambience that hung on the air; drifting in eternal twilight, immune to happiness, unable to wrench myself free from the icy grip that had my soul clenched between its iron talons.

It was too much to bear, floating on the elation, but unable to sink into it and lose myself in its comforting, hazy depths. I couldn't let myself be happy; it would be an insult to his memory. Grief was where I belonged.

I sobbed at the stark contrast between my life and everyone else's, wishing I could feel laughter bubbling up inside me, its tingling warmth caressing me; but I was not capable of such emotions.

I gazed sadly upon their ecstasy, knowing I could never join them. The isolation was draining; I was being killed not by my own sadness, but by the happiness of others. It was a strange sensation - soft, warm and caring, but deadly all the same.