Grief often feels like a holding of breath.
I hold my breath, not wanting to release, in fear I’ll lose my connection to the ones (and things) I so desperately wanted to hold close.
I hold my breath, not wanting to release, in fear I’ll never come down the other side.
I hold my breath. I hold my breath. I hold my breath.
Every,
last,
breath.
My grief has become my closest companion. It has seen me through the darkest of times, and I can’t simply let it go.
I can’t let her go.
So I hold my breath.
I hold my breath in close, and store her in my bones, till my whole body reverberates, screaming for release.
This grief, she is so intertwined into every fibre of my being. She’s begging for release. She’s begging to breathe.
To breathe. To breathe. To breathe.
With each breath, with each release,
I will hold her close,
honour her,
carry her,
and heal.