Grief is a strange animal
It stalks you. It never really leaves.
Sometimes I forget. But not really.
Sometimes it is just grinning at me from a dark corner with menacing eyes and snarly dripping mouth. I go back into my life and for a sliver of a second I forget. Not really, but in the way that a cloud can make you forget the sun for a moment. The mind can be preoccupied but not the body. The marrow aches with remembrance.
Sometimes I wonder why it doesn't just kill me, but it just devours me in pieces instead. It wounds but not enough.
And then it circles and hovers and strikes again, going for the center, the stomach punch.
It isn't personal, it isn't toying with me, it's just the way it feeds.
It's just the way it feels.
I've had enough loss to know that it doesn't ever really go away. It reopens the wound and bleeds until it scabs over again but it never fully heals.
And sometimes I don't want it to because it keeps me connected to the loss which is all I have left.
We exist together, grief and I.
We walk like the woman and the wolf.
