loss

the sense of loss is like the sense of a color. Red is a bright pink insect, twenty legs that crawl and leave a sticky residue, so that when you try to brush it off it will not go. It just stays there, like an elephant's egg incubating and hatching a 200 hundred pound lie that one must plaster over with truth, like inscribing words on a stone, 'TRVTH GOODNESS AND BEAVTY.'