Sad Things and Comfort Colors

A prose poem about the aftermath of losing someone you love — when grief does not come in order, when sadness, anger, guilt, numbness, and loneliness arrive all at once, and even the smallest parts of the day feel impossible.

This piece is for the kind of mourning that has no clear beginning.

The kind that makes the world feel unfamiliar.

The kind no one truly understands unless they have lived inside it.

Not a poem about moving on.

Not a poem about being strong.

A poem about surviving the first breath.

The next hour.

The unbearable day.

Read Where Do I Begin With Gone? now on Ink & Silence:

“Grief does not line up politely.

It does not wait its turn.

It floods the room.”

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