by Samuel D.
it is too cold for this time of year
too cold in the way that burrows its way
into everything else,
as if it were there before anything was.
Grief is like that.
Not always visible
But there
And the emptiness where things are gone
Where things have been removed
Where there are now spaces into which we reach,
and for a split second don’t remember
there’s no one there to reach for back.
And the days don’t stop turning.
They keep on coming, the everyday noises and conversations
of people you love are heard through a different thickness,
as though there is glass between you and them now,
something you never realized was there until now.
And then you realise nothing is slowing down at all,
and nothing stops,
which is almost incomprehensible.
How does the world keep on turning
when something fundamental to you has gone?
Even silence in winter is different.
It becomes more resonant, deeper, almost thicker,
as though it is packed full of everything we didn’t say to someone.
We discover how we are now
in a state of remembrance rather than living,
how we are continually bumping up
against our memories in the everyday
And there will be days when it is sharp and painful.
Days when it becomes background static
you just somehow adapt to exist within
Both the sharp pain and the static refuse to leave entirely
They just change.
Eventually, the wait for it to stop will end.
About the Author
Samuel writes about inner thoughts, silence, and emotions that are often left unspoken.