Darkened Grief.

No one ever truly heals from grief. It’s a forever thing. We might go on smiling, laughing, and enjoying the sun on our skin, but inside, there’s a darkness that even the brightest light can’t reach. Grief is a constant—like a dark cloud swirling inside us, always waiting to strike. It’s like lightning, or a snake hidden in the bushes—silent, patient. Grief waits for the perfect moment to knock us off our feet.

It isn’t always a companion, though I’ve tried to believe it is. I’ve written about it that way before, hoping to find some comfort in the idea. But the truth is, grief can be an enemy. It doesn’t want us to smile or laugh. It wants to drag us into the shadows and strip us of everything that makes us who we are, replacing our light with its sorrow and pain.

Grief isn’t a band-aid we can simply rip off one day and forget. It’s a bandage that soaks through again and again. The wound never fully heals. Grief continues on like venom in our veins, like a bolt of lightning waiting to crack open our ribs.

No matter how many writers describe grief as a gentle companion or wrap it in beauty, the reality is that grief is often ugly. It won’t always hold our hand as we walk through life. Sometimes, it grabs our wrists and bends them back until it feels like we might tear our own hearts out.

Grief can be beautiful. But more often than not, it is the beast.