Some Of Us Don't Grieve Out Loud.

Some of us don't grieve out loud

some things

some things

you just cant put voice to

counting the passage of hours

into days

with averted glances

that hide ever filled eyes

bodies folded around the kind of aching

that wakes before you do

ever present at the edge of

the edge of everything

everything

the way we skirt conversation

just sort of hard to keep up

when everything is spinning too fast

but somehow moving in slow motion

what do you say

when you just know one breath too many

might consume you?

when the hole feels bigger than what's left of you

you crawl inside it

and it becomes you

some of us don't grieve out loud

there are some aches

some aches you cant put voice to

We say a lot of things about grief, we wrap it in rain and black dresses.. we carry our umbrellas and offer our shoulders.. The grace of "if you need anything" ready on our lips... But to feel it. Death itself hardly holds the weight of it, nor is it all we grieve..

How often do we find ourselves desperate to fall into a casket that holds our everything within it, on our knees at the feet of a love nearly lost, or staring at the silence of phantom chairs vacated by those still living. How often do we find the ache of "it" all consuming.

Its rare you know, that comfort remembers past "the worst day", when the reality of it, is the pain in all the ordinary Tuesdays, and empty cereal bowls and streets that hold the echoes of movies we cant stand to watch anymore. Is healing demanded of the passage of time, some things soften yes, but I don't know if grief is always coded that way. Maybe love wells over, maybe empty is full.. maybe when something means enough it alters you. Maybe it's supposed to.