I don’t want to tell you when they died,
For time is a fabric frayed at the seams,
Each thread a memory, a moment denied,
Woven with sorrow, stitched with dreams.

If it wasn’t yesterday, don’t you see?
Grief wears no clock, it knows not of days;
Will you expect me to be less broken,
To wear my heart’s agony in softer ways?

Would you look at me differently
If you knew it was a month, a year, a decade?
Would your gaze linger, or would you flee,
As if my pain were a debt unpaid?

What if I told you it was a lifetime ago,
A distant echo that haunts my soul’s core?
Would you think my sorrow should ebb like a flow,
That I should rise like the sun, and grieve no more?

But grief is a tempest, wild and free,
It doesn’t bow down to the passage of time;
It’s a thunderclap, a relentless sea,
A cacophony of loss in its silent chime.

Will you expect my grief to be a whisper,
A gentle sigh in the stillness of night?
Or will you...