A Wandering Kind of Love ( a poem about Grief) Pt. II
"A Wandering Kind of Love" A type of Love that wanders is Grief it is not a thief, though it feels like one. It can become unwanted in the night time, pull the air from your lungs, leaves you hollow a room where echoes stay and live. But listen closer that hollow is not empty. It hums. It vibrates. It aches because love has no place to go. See, grief is love, exiled and wandering, a letter returned with no address, a song with no ears to catch it, a prayer that ricochets off the sky. It hurts God, it hurts because it is proof that you have touched something sacred. The ache is the evidence. The heaviness is the monument. The tears are the altar, and painful reminder of loss And though the wound feels endless, healing does not mean forgetting. Healing is the scar, the reminder carved deep that love once burned here, bright enough to leave its mark like a brand. Grief bends you but it bends you toward tenderness. Though it may start at anger and sorr...