A little beginner's attempt.

I'm pretty sure loss isn't just a word.
I'm pretty sure it hurts, it eats, it starves.

I'm pretty sure it isn't the extent to which I have always so prided myself in-- 'Emphatizing'-- whenever it came to the part where you put yourself in someone's shoes and try to feel the blade that never touches you.
I have always found that pretentious, yet necessary.
For it is impossible to feel what you have not felt, yet it too is possible, through the pyramid of complexities within oneself and the others. For it too is my belief that you can understand someone without them having to speak, and that grime was caked but clear, however opaque. That it is all clear once you get down to it, that it can be evened out if not scraped off.

But, loss.
How can one pretend to feel the vacancy and emptiness that engulfs you, the one feeling that exceeds 'pain', the thing that twists your stomach so, that makes you feel both cold and hungry right after the superficial warmth of a forced bowl of hot soup wears off?
It is something you can't stave off, something that doesn't go away.

It haunts you so. It sticks to you.
And you, hold on to it, for there is a constant fear of oblivion once the feeling ceases, when torturous blades get dulled with friction and time takes over.

There'll come a time when you meet someone who warms you to your very core, who indirectly convinces you of your right to happiness, that tempts you to let go of this baggage you have come not to see as so necessary anymore.

Contradictions litter your soul, for it is now wrong to let go, to pursue happiness, whilst you rob the deceased the last of their existence. A sense of betrayal overwhelms you, for having been one of those who willingly forsakes an unspoken promise of remembrance in name of 'happiness' and 'right', for it has long merged and became one with the idea of importance and meaning.