Fictional Grief
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He knew he could not swim—and jumped anyway. A poem about sacrifice, remembrance, and the life that continued because one cat chose another’s tomorrow.
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Maybe grief doesn’t care what something is made of—blood, memory, or ink. A poem for the fictional losses that somehow become real inside us.
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Sometimes goodbye is not spoken. Sometimes it is a nod before the shooting starts.
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Sometimes leadership is simply being the one willing to carry the nightmare so no one else has to.
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Hope dies twice when the thing you searched for finally steps into the light already gone.
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Fictional grief and real grief blur together when stories reopen old rooms in the heart and the dead keep finding their way back.
