Deer daughter ☾₊ ⊹

When I finally start to weep, I cannot stop.

—

But your arms welcomed me like wisterias. And rain flowers grew in the whites of your eyes; dizzying stars as you claimed to love me - likewise

Should I be annoyed at the inconvenience of going to the white stained buildings when there was little I could provide in assistance? Your pain will end soon - I try to console but there is little I can offer. What do you say to someone when they’re going to die?

There’s this anticipatory grief which hangs low in our throat and fills our stomach with rocks. It’s not quite apologetic, sometimes pitying and a little disappointing. In the dying stage there’s all this anticipation in freeing ourselves, afraid to linger in this greater sense of grief and death and what it all means- we grieve more with the dying than the dead and are forced to confront ourselves with the idea of it.

When the sheets are pulled back over her head and consolations are offered the grief will disperse - they’ll learn not much has changed that when we turn off the news we’re not confronted with the carcass of bodies littering the media, and that we no longer have to worry about death until it arrives for us.

“You know, I think you did all right.”

“Was I the best?”