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133
~Thehealingpoet🤍✝️
Writer and Artist
Writer and Artist
Maybe grief is love with nowhere left to go⛅
<p>We reach out to them</p><p>but their side of bed is cold again.</p><p><br/></p><p>A laugh.</p><p><br/></p><p>Is the darkness playing a trick on us? </p><p>Or are they truly gone? </p><p><br/></p><p>We call out to them</p><p>hoping they would at least say "Don't disturb my sleep"</p><p>and turn back, facing the wall</p><p>but only the echoes of our own voices reverberated round the room. </p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p><p>We kept their voicemail.</p><p>The only thing that reminded us of how they sounded </p><p>after the photographs of us with them that could have been kept in a safe faded into nothingness.</p><p><br/></p><p>Each voicemail is 47 seconds long</p><p>or maybe less. </p><p>Then we remember we had complained of their never ending yapping while they were alive</p><p>but we ended up cherishing those voicemail</p><p>like a treasure in a treasure chest. </p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p><p>And here we are,</p><p>at 3am,</p><p>in our thoughts</p><p>smiling stupidly at all the things we did with them while they were still alive with us.</p><p><br/></p><p>But nostalgia is a tricky feeling.</p><p>It made everything look better in retrospect.</p><p>meanwhile, life keeps happening- sometimes unfairly,</p><p>every slide leaving a pinch of sadness.</p><p><br/></p><p>But we try to believe they were angels too beautiful for earth</p><p>and heaven needed them more than we did. </p><p><br/></p><p>So, we'll keep on carrying them with us even as they have become memories,</p><p>we'll assure ourselves that missing them is not a failure to heal. </p><p><br/></p><p>Maybe grief is just love with nowhere left to go. </p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p><p>©Goke's pen</p><p>~TheHealingPoet</p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p>
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