growing up and grief hold hands
like the sun and the sky
like how quickly moments go
in just a blink of an eye

the people around me
slip through my fingers like water
evident in how my father's hefty arms
now seemingly starts to falter

and my mother starts to worry
about the gray strands in her locks
she continuously combs through her curls
smoothing them out like worn-out rocks

the places my feet took me
have weathered with time
the roads etched with footprints
of moments left behind

time has since moved on
from the days it couldn't recall
acting as if it had never happened
but it did—and I was still in it all.