I felt the tears pouring out of my helpless, innocent eyes before my mothers stuttering lips finished the crushing sentence. My grandfather, dead. My breath was stolen away; my heart stopped completely, my soul shattered into a million pieces. I was delivered a blow so hard, the pain was unbearable. I fell to my bed, curled in a fetal position and sobbed for who knows how long. I never understood the idea of hot tears. When I cried that night, the tears were burning, leaving emotional scars on my cheeks. My world had crumbled, yet people were still moving cars were still driving, earth were still spinning. That was the moment I realized there is no hope. There is no happily ever after, or dreams come true, just once upon a time. There is no good in the world, only stolen dreams and stolen lives. Seeing people after that week of agony was unreal. They were figures moving in slow motion, hugging me, and telling me to be strong, telling a lone 8 year old to be strong. I also learned to hold in my pain, and to never love someone too much, because they will always leave you. I was consumed in a dying world. I lost my childhood. I was a 59 year old lost in depression, visiting an 8 year olds body. But the visit was long… scary and lonely; 7 years long. No one ever saw the pain, even when I tried to tell people. They pretended it was just a figment of their wild imagination. No one wants to get involved. I was too happy, too young to be truly depressed. To hate myself so much that I wanted nothing more than to be killed, to die a painful death, because that is what I deserved. I watched as everyone moved on, as everyone forgot. An outsider, never really understood by others, only a shade of gray in a black and white world. There is no happily ever after to this story. It just is.