She has a name.

After all, she has a titular role.

Sometimes, she'll go by other names. My personal favorites are Anger, Sadness, A Filter, Pretending, Comparison, Expectations, Faking It, Perfectionism, and Silliness, amongst others.

But one day, she whispered her name to me, so softly that I thought it was just the wind.

"My name is Grief... my name is Grief" she repeated to me.

I cried at the weight of her words.

For I already knew her name, but I didn't want to believe it. But there it was, out in the open. Vulnerable and real.

Some days, I slam and lock the door in her face, ignoring her knocking.
Other days, I don't even bother to get up as she steps lightly into the room.

I hope someday to give her a hug and thank her for her years of wisdom and hurt, and how the two are inseparable.

There's something else too. She told me it the other day, under the too-long absent winter sun as I wept once more.

"I'm your sister... I'm your sister" she whispered, gently and lovingly.