You do not have to get over it,
this heavy cloak of sorrow,
woven with threads of memories,
each stitch a moment lost,
each tear a river of longing.

You will carry your grief,
a companion that never leaves,
and be carried by loss,
a dance with shadows,
as if you had a choice in the tempo.

Grief builds rooms inside you,
hidden chambers, echoing your heart,
where laughter turns to whispers,
and silence sings a haunting tune,
only you can hear, only you can know.

Rest here, in the quiet corners,
or dance wildly,
let the air carry your weight,
shout your truth to the stars,
or whisper secrets to the night.

Rise like milkweed seeds on the wind,
each breath a fragile freedom,
or lie still, a moment of grace,
here, you can only do it right,
for this is your sanctuary.

In this haven, no one else can peer,
no judging eyes to weigh your heart,
no tongues to measure your grief,
or time to dictate your healing.

And if you are weeping, weep,
let the tears fall like rain,
and if you are dry, embrace the calm,
for the world may chatter about stages,
but you, dear soul, do not have to listen.

In this sacred space,
your journey is yours alone,
a tapestry of heartache and hope,
woven in the fabric of your being—
you carry it,
and it carries you.

© etechnocrats