To grieve someone who is still alive
is to throw a brick into a void,
hoping for it to
bounce
back.
Which is to say, knowing if it did
it would cause pain.
Which is to say,
pain is worth it.
To grieve someone who is still alive
is to stand behind the truth, silent,
while handing them something prettier.
Which is to say,
Love will always have the capacity to hurt.
It is never her intent,
but just watch
as her wings spread,
knocking your trust
of
the
shelf.
The memories,
The pain,
The Joy,
s h a t t e r e d
on the floor.
Which is to say Love will fly away,
but a fl e e t i n g
thought in your mind’s city.
To grieve someone who is still alive,
is not a grief at all,
is not crazy,
is not psychotic or
unjust.
It. Is. Love.
To love someone who has already left
is to look away as Icarus
f
a
l
l
s.
He had his time in the sun,
yet love is to
deny gravities effects.
To grieve someone who is still alive
is to love someone who thinks you as dead.
Which is not to say
you are,
which is to say I hope you
feel alive,
which might tell you
I am grieving-
-And you are still alive.