"how do you process grief? by running from it until it finds me in the middle of a sunny street on a beautiful day"
it greets me like a stranger, with a warmth that feels strangely familiar. it reaches for my hand as i gasp for air, unprepared for its presence. before i know it, im sitting across from it in a coffee shop, sipping my drink like i'm catching up with an old friend.
but here’s the odd part: it feels like grief has been waiting for me all along. like it had planned this moment, showing up unannounced as if to say, "you can’t avoid me forever."
and as i let it consume me, i hear something, "what is grief if not love persevering?". ah, i guess it all comes down to that. grief, for all its weight, is love’s shadow—it lingers not to torment, but to remind.
maybe grief really is the last act of love—for it only exists where love lived first. the way a flame clings to its wick even as the candle burns low.
so, even if i must sit with it for longer than i've been running from it, i will stay. for in its ache, i find traces of you—in the quiet pull of longing, in the gentle sting of remembrance.
i will have to remember you longer than i have known you