Mine to Keep; an exploration of letting it fester as a preservation of what’s left

My inadequacies consume me, my lack of words suck the air out of the space, I do not know how to reflect and describe the suffering when my eyes cannot see, my ears cannot hear the fullness of this darkness without the impact taking the air from me

I wonder if this is why it has taken centuries to put into words the grief, why poets so often revisit this space, because this intimately known and gravely felt thing, this inherently human experience to hold room for death, to invite it into our home and to sit with it, I wonder if that’s why we try to speak of it, to immortalize what is left of the essence of the last thing that impacted us so fully from this person, to journalize and document the final act they gave us, to stamp this remaining love into the sand of our own memory, to try to catch the snowflakes of the essense of our loss but in that dissolve the remainder of what we have left of them

the grief a reminder of the care, holding witness to the love I have, a testimony of us, that in speaking of disolved, so I bite my tongue, and notice the dust settling, I hold my breathe and as I walk, the weight is heavy, but at least it’s mine to keep