Time Moves

I Know the World Doesn’t Wait
it just keeps sliding forward,
steady as a clock that refuses
to acknowledge anyone’s heartbreak.
And honestly,
there were days I felt offended by that,
as if everything outside
was supposed to pause
until I could stand up straight again.

Grief doesn’t care for schedules either.
It slips into your routine,
sits in your favorite chair,
shifts the air around you
in ways you can’t quite explain.
Some mornings it’s heavy,
like you’re carrying a version of yourself
you haven’t learned how to hold.
Other mornings it’s oddly patient,
letting you breathe without bargaining.

I used to think healing meant
getting back to who I was
before the hurt,
as if there were a rewind button
hiding somewhere in my chest.
But nothing returned to its old shape,
and I stopped pretending it would.


Then that sudden, almost awkward shift
where I realized
I didn’t need the world to halt for me.
What I needed
was permission
to move at my own uneven pace,
to take tiny steps,
to rest when I trembled,
to let the future come slowly
without feeling left behind.

And in that strange permission,
I found something like breath.
Not perfect,
but real enough to matter.
I began noticing small things,
the warmth of a hand held longer than usual,
a laugh that cracked open the quiet,
the relief of knowing
I didn’t have to be the same
to be whole.

Grief may have rerouted me,
reshaped me,
softened and sharpened me
all at once,
but I’m still here,
walking forward in my own rhythm,
gathering back the pieces
that want to stay.