They talk about the loss, the goodbye, the funeral. They talk about the days immediately after, when grief is raw and everyone gathers around you. But nobody can truly explain what happens when the world keeps turning and you are left standing in the ruins of the life you once knew. The shock becomes reality. The disbelief becomes a daily companion. And the pain you once thought would destroy you becomes something you must learn to carry, because somehow, impossibly, you are still here. This is the aftermath. The chaos. The anger. The fear. The unbearable feeling of being trapped inside a world that no longer makes sense. Grief becomes a monster, enormous and relentless, filling every corner of your existence. Some days it screams. Some days it simply stares back at you, reminding you that nothing will ever be as it was. And there you stand, impossibly small against something you cannot fight, outrun, or reason with. The colours are the chaos inside a grieving mind. The darkness is everything that has been lost. The figure is the person left behind, trying to find a way forward in a world that has become almost unrecognisable. Because losing a child doesn't end when the funeral is over. It doesn't end when the visitors leave or when the world decides it is time to move on. You carry it into every tomorrow. Into every quiet room, every celebration, every moment when you instinctively want to share something with the child who should still be here. You learn to exist alongside an absence that has no boundaries. And perhaps the cruelest part of all is that, from the outside, the world may look perfectly normal. But inside, everything is still burning.