Tonight I was listening to the radio and the announcer said "I hate waking up on a Monday thinking it's a Sunday - that's the worst feeling in the world!"

No... I imagine the worst feeling in the world to be something similar how an ancient and unwell grandmother would feel wailing over the too-soon death of her grandson. Something like putting both your hands over your love's coffin before it is lowered into the ground. Or similar to trying to live your life with things you cannot un-see living in your mind's eye forever, festering and bitter. 

There is no hope, no happiness. There is no 'reason', none that I can see, and I'm looking pretty hard. 

Lewis and I felt like we were playing grown-ups today, Lewis with his too-big suit and me mistaking my reflection for someone else, frightening and unrecognisable in black attire. I don't know what to do at funerals and I clutched onto Lewis like a little kid, scared of adults crying and hiding my face in his chest like I could bury myself in there and be him - and never risk becoming the poor girl who stood sobbing at the altar, losing her love and the parts of herself she gave to him.