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SofiaaaPoems
I never write about you. Maybe I should start. But the pages wouldn’t be big enough to hold all the important and nonchalant things that made you who you were. All the tiny, descriptive details. There will never be anybody like you. No one could love themselves that much. And still, sometimes, I catch myself doing things just the way you used to — the little things no one ever knew about you. But me. Because I saw every color and every bruise you suffered through. I weathered every hard day beside you. I listened to your mouth swear the same words over and over again. I watched you cry yourself to sleep. Every single night. I searched for the source of your hidden pain — the unbearable grief, the vast emptiness, the sharp agony, the unfortunate sorrow, the heavy burdens. You really were the strongest person I knew. But you’re gone. And now I’m the one hiding, longing for someone to find my pain, my wallowing grief, my singular misery, my guilty sorrow, my untimely burdens. History repeats itself. Except… time keeps ticking, and I never feel like I’m moving. If only you could read this. I never write about you. But maybe I should start.
0
Mar 24
Mar 24, 2026 at 12:55 PM UTC
The Strongest Person I Knew
I never write about you. Maybe I should start. But the pages wouldn’t be big enough to hold all the important and nonchalant things that made you who you were. All the tiny, descriptive details. There will never be anybody like you. No one could love themselves that much. And still, sometimes, I catch myself doing things just the way you used to — the little things no one ever knew about you. But me. Because I saw every color and every bruise you suffered through. I weathered every hard day beside you. I listened to your mouth swear the same words over and over again. I watched you cry yourself to sleep. Every single night. I searched for the source of your hidden pain — the unbearable grief, the vast emptiness, the sharp agony, the unfortunate sorrow, the heavy burdens. You really were the strongest person I knew. But you’re gone. And now I’m the one hiding, longing for someone to find my pain, my wallowing grief, my singular misery, my guilty sorrow, my untimely burdens. History repeats itself. Except… time keeps ticking, and I never feel like I’m moving. If only you could read this. I never write about you. But maybe I should start.
This is about grieving my narcissist mother who died when I was 25. And how I slowly was becoming like her.
#grief#narcissism#mother#losing#a#parent
Sofiaaa
Written by
Sofiaaa
33
Mar 24
Mar 24, 2026 at 12:55 PM UTC
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