Notice the fly caught between the blinds and the window pane on a hot summers day.
He's full of hope, flies around anticipating his next morsel, and feels that he can fly away.

After a few hours, the anticipation of all goods things begin to dwindle.

Once in awhile, the fly is inspired by the sights and sounds it sees outside.
As he flies around between the long slender rectangular grave and begins to go out of his mind.

Around and around he flies, gaining no ground as if caught on a revolving spindle.

The fly eventually withers away as his hopes and dreams are no more.
Never an indication that anyone was at home, as his thoughts are validated by a knock on the door.

No one to raise the blinds, to set him free, nothing left to rekindle.

There is a state of living death, that last longer than death itself.
No words yet defined to describe the pain, the loneliness, the overall loss of your soul.
To have tasted the manna from heaven, to have loved unconditionally, and to have lost all of this with one simple act is death.

The curse of the heavens sentence us to everlasting torment, that is relived day after day, night after night...
To die a physical death is inviting for the soul that cries for their soul mate, their lover, their friend...

It's as if the demons have hand picked those of us who have loved and let it slip through our fingers to torment.

Oh, the tumults of the mind how they drive us to wonder through this life searching for the "next morsel" of love that we will not never find - a knock on the door but no one is home to open for us. We wither away from heat of the summer - the remnants of a broken heart.