Grief is not loud in my life.
It does not scream or shatter glass.
It sits in the space between my ribs,
breathing softly,
like it belongs there.
I have learned to carry it gently,
like a cup filled too close to the brim,
careful not to spill
what I no longer have the strength
to clean up.
There were words
I folded into silence,
stitched into the lining of my chest.
They live there still;
unspoken, unheard, unforgiven.
Sometimes I wonder
if they echo in another world,
if somewhere
you heard me
and chose not to answer.
I go on;
not because I have healed,
but because the world
does not pause for broken things.
And yet,
in the quietest moments,
I still turn;
as if you might be there,
as if grief
might finally loosen its grip
and let me breathe
without remembering.
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