This morning, I woke up and cried. I cried a a very silent, almost breathless cry. The kind that feels like your throat is tight all the way down to the middle of your chest. So tight that if you took a breath that you would let out a loud painful sob. So instead, I held onto that tightness and cried a silent stream of tears.
My mornings usually look like the following;
7:10AM: Alarm #1 starts its incessant, annoying tone
7:23AM: Peel one eye open for a couple seconds at a time but close it quickly because the glow from my phone is too bright to read my good morning text and assess how many Snapchats popped up while I was asleep.
Today, I woke up to a flood of push notifications that had been rolling in on the phone over night. CNN. People. Huffington Post. Buzzfeed. The usual players that supply me with things I need to know to be a well balanced and functioning human being in this society.
Today, with my one eye struggling to focus and push past the fuzziness of what felt like a far too short sleep cycle, I clicked on the most recent notifications;
My. Heart. Sank.
I read one article, dimmed out the glow of my phone screen, buried my face in the blanket, held my breath, and cried.
Because what else do you do when the largest shooting in US history happened over night? Get in the shower? Get ready for work? Throw leftover pizza in your bag for lunch? My morning and day went on but the weight of knowing that so many people’s lives were taken or turned upside down overnight made me lose focus of majority of the things I needed to do today.
Like this blog for instance. So today, for this month, instead of the bright and colorful designs you normally see from The Printable Project, this design is the absence of those things. This month, let’s take a moment of silence through color and the absence of vibrancy that has now been taken from the world through the 59 lives lost.
To those who lost friends, family, and loved ones last night, my heart is with you today, and in the upcoming days, even though I know those words will never be enough.
Life is fragile. Love is fragile. We are fragile. Hug someone tighter tonight, dammit.