grief feels like nothing

i wish i had something worthwhile to say, but i don't. i keep writing things & deleting them five minutes later. the world is as tired as i am & neither of us can sleep at night. i wish things didn't feel like drowning.

it feels like there is a chasm in my chest just waiting to be bridged. i'm sick of feeling like an un-person, like something waiting to be shaped by hands that aren't my own. i want words that are elegant and say something larger than myself, but i'm stuck here with just my beating heart for company. everywhere i look, the people i love are painted all the same shades of despair. sometimes it is hope but more often than not that is just a little bit of an extra smile to try and overcome the ocean-depth of grief that the world just cannot possibly hold all of. i am trying to make room for it inside myself, tucking my corners inside an ark and hoping to weather the storm, but it's been many years since i last swam the length of a lake.

i numbered the days on my calendar with how long it's been since everything ground to a halt. since i hugged my friends. since i left the house without feeling like i was choking to death. i thought it would help me feel less lost, but watching the days march by one after the next only serves whatever god is watching the hours melt into each other.

a part of me keeps writing because it helps. another part of me just wants to put everything inside me somewhere else. words can never replace the feeling of being held close, but i am trying despite everything. isn't that admirable, at least? another tally in the unending count of things done with bravery in the heart that the history books will never take note of. i don't know if i've given up on wanting to be heard, but this endless void hasn't stolen everything from me yet. someone out there will read this, i hope.

whoever you are, i hope you know i love you.

published april 4, 2020

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