Grief doesn’t evaporate into the sunlight of the morning.
It’s not like the rain crashing down, entrapping us with memories of stormy nights.
Reminiscent of a time when we weren’t alone, and the future still mattered.
Of moments when we blindly believed in the same cliches friends now use to keep us hostage.
Grief doesn’t feel like the wind brushing our cheeks, reminding us of their last breath.
It’s not like a tsunami crashing down because it happens again, again, and again.
We desperately wish to drown, but it offers just enough oxygen to doubt that this is the end.
Pain too predictable to be an earthquake, too empty to be seen like a hurricane.
Grief is not a process, but who we’ve become, a permanent inconvenience to society.
Days come and go, the sun sets and rises, and the rest carry on as casual as the weather.
Rain stops, tears run dry, and life has the audacity to knock on our door.
Tomorrow is here but yesterday never left.
The mirror reflects the passing of time, but how can this be?
How dare Earth not stand still when we’re still in grief.