Where the Silence Stays
Cordelia Cross
Jun 6, 2025 09:56
0
Grief is not the wail at midnight,
It is the stone that sits in daylight,
Heavy in the pocket of your chest,
Making breath a labor,
And the heart an unwilling traveler.
It waits in the cracks of laughter,
In the empty chair at the table,
In the shadow you mistake for their outline—
For one dizzy second
You believe they are still here.
Loss is not an event;
It is a country you wake up in,
Its language unkind,
Its seasons without warning—
Summer comes, but the flowers will not open.
Some days you barter with the air,
Offer your joy, your years, your bones,
For one more hour,
To feel the weight of their hand
Anchoring you to the earth.
But the bargain is never taken.
So you carry the absence like a second skin,
Learn to breathe through the tear in your chest,
And hope—
That somewhere, in the ache,
A seed of them grows into something
That will not die.
