The unsettling of being lost in grief, the trap of falling for the what ifs and everything in between.
I used to look at the green fields and the Themes flowing away until daylight faded, unable to swallow an ounce of solid food.
The house left messy, heavy and unbothered like my mind.

All but that one part that refused to let go, even if it hurt. A part of me ready to fight the worst of me. A part which refused to accept the world for what was or would be.
Those sunrises were an anchor, the feed the feral and it called for hope.
As the darkness swallowed us too soon those winter months, my hunt for hope died too; my eyes gave way. Trembling.

Grief often looks like depression, the inability to move forward, a mourning for someone.. or something that maybe could have.

We can tell when someone is hopelessly lost in the possibility or probability of something. Thats a lie. A what if.
A story you want to tell yourself.
When unexpressed, the same grief turns into a longing.

like chopping of a part of you and pretending that it does not just bleed more now. As long as your sheets are white right?
Maybe the truth would make you hate yourself or the world.
It will show you something you have been running away from your entire life, no way but to wear it like a badge.
Smear it like ashes of snow blanket earth.
Whats purer anyway.

Grief and I have sat many a night in silence.
I often ask if it would mean something ever, the ever absurdist.
It does not.

You just have to feel it. Sit with it long enough.
It will tug your smile shorter sometimes.
Make you find meaning in new lyrics.
Creep up into your warm blanket like a chill in the spine.
And one day, maybe you will see it in a painting.
It is a familiar demon, not so daunting anymore.

He asks you what if.
You simply look away.
The dawn kisses you.

It’s another day my love.
I have hope. Its always been you.