👉 Stricken by a sudden bout of grief, I find myself moping about the city, unable to stand the sight of its towering spires. My heart races as my mind wanders to a place where sorrow fills every corner and leaves me feeling nauseous from the way things are spiraling into chaos.
I take refuge in a quiet alley, where my soul whispers in despair until I can't bear the pain any longer. There, I find myself amidst a group of men who seem to be lost in their own grief, with no one to turn to. They're staring out at me, as though they've been waiting for someone to come along and offer comfort. The scene is surreal - the scent of broken windows wafts through the air, and the sight of others who had been so much happier now seem bereft in their own grief. I try to reassure them that it's okay, but I can't shake the feeling that this place has become haunted by my own sorrow. I'm forced to leave quickly before anyone gets too upset or angry with me, but it feels like no one wants to hear my story of despair. The only thing I could find in the alley was a stack of papers - I realize now that they're not just pieces of paper but a kindred spirit whispering their sorrow. The next day at church, I'm greeted by the same feeling - sadness and loneliness envelop me like never before. But this time, instead of falling to my knees in despair
