grief

Grief doesn’t knock, it breaks in— quiet at first, then suddenly, everything’s missing. It steals the sound of laughter from someone you love, hides it in corners you can’t reach anymore. It takes the light from their eyes, and the warmth from yours. It rewrites people— softens their joy, hardens their silence, leaves you missing versions of them that don’t exist anymore. And the worst part? It doesn’t just take the ones we lose, it takes the ones left behind, piece by piece— until you’re left holding memories like broken glass, trying not to bleed when you remember how bright life used to be. Still… somewhere, beneath the rubble, a flicker stays. Not hope, not yet— just love, refusing to leave.