There are absences
that don't echo.
They settle.
The kind that change
how a room feels
even when nothing moves.
I still reach for guidance
out of habit;
the reflex of believing
someone stronger
is about to speak.
When no one does,
I feel the drop all over again.
Grief didn't arrive loud.
It arrived instructional.
It taught me how to function
without expecting rescue.
Anger came later;
not explosive,
just dense.
Heavy enough to slow my days.
I kept moving
because stopping felt dangerous.
I kept going
because quitting felt permanent.
Somewhere in that motion
I misplaced myself.
Dreams dulled.
Doors closed quietly.
I didn't fight them.
People think time heals.
What it really does
is teach you
how to carry something
without letting it spill.
I don't forgive myself.
I coexist with it.
And I have learned
that love doesn't vanish
when someone does;
it becomes weight,
and asked to be lived with
instead.
-
Author:
nev (
Offline) - Published: January 15th, 2026 08:52
- Comment from author about the poem: This was written from the place grief doesn't always show; the part that lingers, reshapes you, and quietly changes the course of your life. It's about loss, guilt, anger, and learning how to carry love after someone is gone. If this resonates, you're not alone.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 1
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.