Stricken Down in I Kept the Pieces That Hurt the Most

Grief is a weight that does not settle. It presses into the chest, pools behind the eyes, makes every breath feel like an unearned privilege.

There is no silence anymore, only the echo of what was. Memories arrive uninvited, sharp-edged and insistent, pulling time backward until I forget how to exist in the present.

The world still moves. People still laugh, cars still pass, the sky still stretches endlessly as if nothing has shattered. But I have.

There is an emptiness where warmth used to be, a hollow space carved by love that has nowhere to go. I hold it inside me, not knowing if it will drown me or keep me tethered to what remains.

This is grief; raw, relentless, unforgiving. A storm that does not end, only quiets long enough to remind me of what I have lost.