Her chest caught fire every time she thought of him. It used to happen uncontrollably: in the middle of the aisle while grocery shopping, in her silent car sitting at a stoplight, seeing any absolutely unknown random old man. There were times she wanted to put it out as she thought the fire grew too hot. She tried water then fire foam then alcohol then sex then pills. Nothing worked. She learned she had to sit with the fire and that it would die on its own each time. Sometimes it took 45 minutes. Sometimes it took 6 months. As time went on, the fire appeared less and less. And years later, she found herself buying newspapers to crumble and place under the kindling. She stroked the matches and added logs to stoke the fire for however long she wanted. She realized the heat of the fire, though it might scorch her skin, would never let her forget him. That they could dance again in the shadows of the smoke.
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Author:
Z (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 19th, 2024 14:32
- Comment from author about the poem: escaping feelings of grief but over time i have learned that these feelings are only there bc of how much i loved someone, how much they loved me---the love we shared. grief absolutely sucks but after a while, you learn to sit with it.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 14
Offline)
Comments1
I should have thought she'd have been thankful to grieve. Me is sniffling cuz I can't stop weeping for grief, ergo I wanted to read this.
Fascinating and intriguing, rendered with a gentle poignancy and excellent details. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you for your kind words. That ache is the most bittersweet comfort ever
You're more than welcome, my pleasure.
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