Grief’s Stains.

Death is an awfully strange, strange thing. Feared. Misunderstood. Senseless. I sit here, thinking of all the smiles and all the sounds of laughter that used to echo from the bridges of close companions. How one day, we sat and talked about things that mattered and then how suddenly, they were gone. Like smoke in a room – fading and fading, until all that’s left is the residue. The small fragments left by their souls. The memories. Oh, those memories. How painful they’ve become. How I now hate seeing those radiant faces shimmer in the mirrors of my mind. How I hate that each time they come into full focus, my heart shatters; collapses into oblivion and I become more broken than I was when I was forced to say goodbye. I see shadows and creases of your being in the flesh of others. I will stare, stare until the face and figure changes but it never does. All I can do is look away and feel the pain rattle my being. Feel the air shake my lungs and remind me to breathe.

Breathe, just breathe

My eyes water at the thought of you. Dry, chapped lips can’t dare whisper your name. They say time heals. Who lied like that? Time won’t change that you’re gone. It won’t change what has happened. It won’t change the ache in my heart. Still, I breathe.

I just need to breathe.


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