Eventually...

Eventually it will happen.
Eventually, my loss will get in the way of things. It will not be my fault. It will not be the fault of anyone, but eventually, it will happen.
Eventually the familiar sting will get stronger in my heart. It will be more than I can take and, eventually, you will tire of me and my pain.
You will feel guilty, or at least you will tell me that you feel guilty, but eventually, everyone has to carry on and express themselves in way that doesn't always take into consideration how the poor pathetic grieving girl will feel.
Eventually, you will stop walking on eggshells and you will feel better, but I will feel worse. And it won't be your fault. Or mine.
There is a point where my grief prevents me from understanding the world of the non-grievers. I don't remember how it was for me before, I only know now, when I barely keeping my head above the ocean that is my grief. There is a point when people that haven't been here have to draw a line. There is a time when, even the most empathetic, will drop the ball and if I point it out, they will feel guilt and they will express that guilt; but, secretly, within themselves, they will feel that they should not have to justify or feel guilty about saying or doing what they did. And they shouldn't.
Eventually, everyone will be hurtful and how I take it will depend on where I am within my grief. If I am buried in it, I will revert back within myself. I will grab my emotions and retreat, like a wounded animal, running in reverse. I will sit alone, with my trowel and my mortar, stacking bricks, walling myself in, keeping myself safe.
If I am floating, just above my grief, I will brush it off, I will seek out intent, I will be thankful that I have people around me that care enough to stumble for words and actions. I will be grateful that things were fun while they lasted. I will not cry or feel sorry for myself.
Eventually, everyone else will move on, and I will be left behind.