I was faced with Grief again after I thought it will stop. It keeps moving, even when I wish it wouldnāt - flowing into the quiet corners of my days, into the pauses between thoughts, into the moments that used to belong to her.
It gathers in my hands when I donāt know what to do with myself. It sits heavy in my chest when I remember something I canāt share anymore. I still reach for my phone after work sometimes, out of habit - already forming the words, already imagining her voice on the other end - before it hits me all over again that thereās no one to call. That the space where she used to be is justā¦ silent.
And itās in the small things too. The things no one else would think matter. Being ill and not knowing what to do without her advice. Not hearing her tell me what medicine to take, or how long it will last, or that Iāll be okay. Sitting there with the discomfort, the uncertainty, and realizing that the person who made those moments feel safe is gone.
Everything feels like itās holding the shape of whatās missing.
I used to think love needed somewhere to go. That it had to be received to matter. But now it just exists, endlessly, without direction - stretching itself thin across memories and silence. And I carry it, because I donāt know how not to.
Sometimes it feels like itās too much for one body. Like I was never meant to hold this much feeling alone. It spills out in ways I canāt control - in tears that come at the wrong time, in the quiet ache that never really leaves, in the way I still reach for her without thinking.
But there will be moments - small, fragile moments - where it doesnāt feel like itās rotting anymore.
It feelsā¦ preserved.
Like something sacred instead of something decaying. Like all that love didnāt disappear when she did- it just changed where it lives. It settled into me, into who I am becoming, into the way I move through the world now.
And maybe thatās the only place it ever could have gone.
Not away.
Not gone.
Justā¦ carried.
