Could Sorrow be a visitor of our lives, merely to remind us of the agony sewn into every mortal path, or is It a parasite dwelling within us, meddled with the melody of our breath, everlastingly silent even when our hearts do not break and our souls do not ache? It is there, abscond from every mind though sensed by all, cryptically natant in the waves of our dark shelf beneath the carotid tide, yearning for the moment It may finally be brought to shore and breathe as though it had never...