The Shape of Grief

Grief does not knock—

It enters like dusk,

Filling corners with shadows

And silencing clocks.

It creeps into morning

With yesterday’s name

Still caught in your throat

Like a flame without flame.

It waits in the stillness

Where laughter once lived,

In the empty chair’s hush

And the gifts never given.

It stains every moment

With echoes of loss,

A haunting refrain

Of the things that it cost.

It walks like a whisper,

A shiver in June,

It hums in the silence

Like an old, distant tune.

It eats at your hours,

It fills up your chest,

And sleeps in your bed

As an unwelcomed guest.

You carry it daily—

Not like a stone,

But like breath held too long

That you call your own.

You smile for the photos,

You talk through the pain,

But deep in your marrow,

It falls like rain.

The scent of their sweater,

The crack in their voice,

The way that they argued,

Their favorite choice—

It all floods back

Like a river unbound,

Till you’re drowning in memories

That make not a sound.

There is no straight path,

No neat little chart.

It spirals and circles

And tears you apart.

It’s the missing of mornings

You’ll never now see,

The ache of tomorrows

That will never be.

Some days it roars,

A storm at full gale,

Knocking you breathless,

Heavy and pale.

Other days it sits quietly

Out of your view,

A shadow that walks

Just behind you.

It shows in the eyes

That no longer shine,

In the lines of your lips

That forgot how to smile.

It steals your laughter,

Rewrites your song,

Leaves you wondering

Where you belong.

But grief is love

That has nowhere to go,

It clings to the corners

Of all that you know.

It's the echo of joy

Now dressed as a sigh,

The kiss that still lingers

In the absence of goodbye.

It’s sitting in silence

And hearing them speak,

A ghost in your thoughts

Each time your heart leaks.

It’s reaching for hands

That are no longer there,

Then pretending you didn’t,

So no one will stare.

It teaches you patience,

And time’s twisted way,

How months can feel heavy,

Yet vanish in days.

It humbles, it hollows,

It breaks and it bends,

It opens you wide

In places you mend.

And healing is strange—

Not tidy or fast.

It’s made of small moments

That slip through the past.

It’s crying in aisles

At songs once ignored,

It’s learning to live

Though your heart has been torn.

But slowly, somehow,

The grief will transform.

It won’t leave you whole,

But it may keep you warm.

It teaches you love

In the rawest of ways,

It sharpens your sight

To the light in the haze.

The one that you’ve lost

Becomes woven in you—

In the tilt of your voice,

In the things that you do.

You carry them gently,

A thread through your soul,

Not something that's broken,

But something now whole.

Yes, grief is a teacher,

A sculptor of bone,

It chiseled your silence

And carved out your home.

It lives in the stories

You struggle to share,

And glows in the spaces

Where once they were there.

So mourn as you need to—

There’s no perfect way.

Let tears be your language

If words go astray.

Let memory guide you,

Let sorrow be sung,

For grief is the price

Of a love that’s not done.

In time, you will rise

Though never the same—

But marked by the echo

Of a beautiful name.

And though they are gone,

Their love still will stay—

In the grief that you carry

And the life you portray.