Beneath the greenest earth lies my silence—words emptied and conversed within my stubborn mind. Foreseeing the foreseeable still made its way, despite my bad luck, and even if I could not reach for the two-way telephone, fearing I’d submerge myself into the deep hole of my grief, I’d still jumble the twenty-six letters and turn them into, “God, I hope he’s safe out there.”
Must I forsake the alphabets, just so you’ll reach out and yearn the same way I do?
Must I shake and tremble within the graveyard of my memories, in labored breaths, while my sorrowful ghost follows you in silence?
The world spoke of its benevolence between the once familiar you, where I found a home. But then, it was nothing—such profoundly ethereal grief that I am intolerably stuck within. Above it all were the dreams and laughter we used to create in the muffled whispers of the night. In a song I am listening to, I would lose myself just to hear it again.
Such hope I have, overcoming the sea in comfort and safety. Such discipline, to not dwell too much on the relinquishment of my deep loss—the once home I found, where on the second floor of nostalgia, I once saw you overlooking the port.
You taught me so much grief. I am now good at writing your name—beautiful, but futile.
grief is the receipt we once loved. I’m still thankful I was able to love deeply and I was able to overcome such loss. even if it means, we no longer know the person we used to love wholeheartedly.
I was able to write such piece because of this song called, “A House In Nebraska” by Ethel Cain.