emotional poetry
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Grief does not always leave; sometimes it grows roots beneath the ribs until healing means learning how to bloom around it.
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One morning she stopped checking for the name that never appeared, and the phone finally became an object instead of a graveyard.
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The goodbye arrived so slowly she mistook it for distance, until silence had already taught her how to live without them.
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They returned after the door had already changed meaning and loneliness was no longer enough reason to let them back in.
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Choosing joy does not erase old pain; it simply refuses to let every bruise, promise, and goodbye own the rest of the story.
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The moon could not return what was lost, but beneath it she learned to stop asking the sky to rebuild a life only she could keep living.
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She gave more than effort; she emptied whole rooms of herself into a dream that eventually became a place she had to leave.
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The last time she saw them becomes a scene memory keeps replaying, searching ordinary details for the goodbye it did not recognize yet.
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Even the wind can carry back what memory tried to bury, touching old names, old places, and the ache of what once mattered.
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Love did not end in one dramatic moment; it wore down slowly until the sentence finally learned where to stop.
Between Bruises & Blooms 