Grief comes in waves, they say. What they don’t say is that the unbearable weight of continuing to exist in a world without you comes in waves. The ache is constant. It seeps into my bones and penetrates every crevice of my body. My body refuses to continue. It hurts to breathe. My lungs remembered how it felt to be against yours in their warm embrace. And yet, somehow, I do continue. I move through the world like a ghost in my own skin, half here, half somewhere only you could find me. Everything I touch carries your afterglow, every shadow stretches with the shape of your absence. I keep waiting for time to soften what you left behind, but hours become days, and days become years, and still I feel you in the pauses between my heartbeats. If grief is love with nowhere to go, then let it drown me. Let these waves pull me under again and again, if only to return me to where you are. Grief comes in waves, they say.
Aug 7, 2025
Aug 7, 2025 at 10:42 AM UTC
Grief comes in waves, they say. What they don’t say is that the unbearable weight of continuing to exist in a world without you comes in waves. The ache is constant. It seeps into my bones and penetrates every crevice of my body. My body refuses to continue. It hurts to breathe. My lungs remembered how it felt to be against yours in their warm embrace. And yet, somehow, I do continue. I move through the world like a ghost in my own skin, half here, half somewhere only you could find me. Everything I touch carries your afterglow, every shadow stretches with the shape of your absence. I keep waiting for time to soften what you left behind, but hours become days, and days become years, and still I feel you in the pauses between my heartbeats. If grief is love with nowhere to go, then let it drown me. Let these waves pull me under again and again, if only to return me to where you are. Grief comes in waves, they say.