Begin at the very source of your need. Begin the way waterfalls begin – with a rush and headlong tumble towards the unknown depths. Crash into rocks.
Begin with the image of hurt. Most of us need to share pain, above all things. Our joys we sequester, most of us. We need them too much, and we are afraid of jealous eyes. Of jealous gods. Until we lose them. Then those joys become pain. And we are finally ready to share them with the world.
Begin with the sound of grief. Is it an absolutely still house at midnight, with the very faint sound of traffic filtering up from the bedroom window as you lie in bed, alone?
Begin with the shape of grief, its texture. Is it round, or mottled like a sulky, unattractive child? Does it look like stained gauze bandages? Does it feel like cracked heels in too-new sandals that were worn only once to a wedding where you felt you must look your very best even though you were related neither to the groom nor the bride?