we attempt to beat the world into submission,
only to witness it rear back and bite us.
The wind was so loud
I thought it was raining,
so I walked outside
and simply thanked the sky.
I feel the slow turning of something ancient.
Not tragic—though there was sorrow—but older and more fundamental.
The air held a kind of silence so rare,
once you’ve felt it, you recognize it forever.
A threshold. A doorway. An invitation.
Grief, I learned, is not just an emotion.
It’s a terrain. And you must walk it. Barefoot, often. Alone, mostly.
And if you’re lucky, if you’re paying attention,
with a a song rising from your heart.
I have become someone else—
not in the way of reinvention, but revelation.
As if the scaffolding of my life had collapsed
and I finally saw what had always been underneath.
My response to the enormity of pain was to begin to make things—
not to distract from the pain, but to stay with it.
To name it.
To write something permanent from the shifting sand.
You can’t outrun loss.
You can’t avoid heartbreak.
You can’t silence suffering.
You can’t choose what gets taken.
You can’t erase the pain.
You can’t stop the ache.
But grief is not a detour to life.
Grief invites you to reach deeper.