Grief is this weird visceral thing without shape and form that yet somehow still manages to carve a hole in your chest in the exact dimensions of your heart.
It’s a muted, hollow kind of chaos that leaves you both empty and simultaneously overwhelmed, like a white noise that should be deafening but somehow manages to slip from your throat in a hiccup. Like a piece of glass lodged in your throat that you can’t quite swallow down for fear of being cut to ribbons from the inside out, so maybe if you scream long and hard enough you’ll be able to spit it free.
Except there’s nothing tangible to pry away, no matter how much it claws back and burrows deeper into your chest until you think perhaps it has always been there. A tiny sliver of ice that drops into your soul like a two-ton weight of shit and shrapnel, detonating with absolute emotional devastation that should leave nothing but a smoking wreck in its wake but somehow has the audacity to keep you whole.
People say that hate is love turned inside out, but it’s not. Grief is love that’s been ransacked, plundered and left in a thousand million pieces scattered across the strata of your soul like starlight.
And while time supposedly heals all wounds, were the boon offered to take this pain from your soul now, if the gods said I will lift this from you now and all it will cost you is the memory of their smile and the warmth of their arms…there suddenly wouldn’t be time enough.
Be kind to one another. You never know what other people are going through.