غرووّنق أب أن-تايملي

Tip of the side of your eyes, to the border of the temple, there goes the first thing which sort of levels when you lose something. A curve of inclination retracts, and fades, a subdued hint of an approaching nose-dive-like parameter of your lips appears. Only thing separating it from a complete utter frown is the tension you have in the back of your jaw, stretching out your cheeks in a ghostly manner, yet still showcases the epitome of basic human emotions. Feeling loss is one thing you can both alter to what extent affects you, or to what consequence it ensues based on how you deal with it. But that's about all you can really do. With sharper eyes, perfect horizontal symmetry of the mouth blurring any attempt at smiles, a locked jaw to the lower set of your teeth, and a slightly more apparent slanted nose because you forget to take your breath every couple of seconds since you're too busy dwelling in memories. When you lose something, there's nothing you can do about looking the part. When you lose your mother, you are the fucking part.