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 sorrow

It makes the world sharper,
colors truer,
hands dearer,
moments more fragile,
more fierce.

Grief is the mirror of the love deposited with or without the return, it still stings
the shadow it casts when the light is gone.
And like a shadow,
it does not vanish, it transcends, it shifts,
it even softens to a degree,
it learns to follow you without swallowing you whole.

So if you grieve,
let yourself.
Let the love spill out in tears,
Not in silence, let pain be loud, only to digress...eventually
Like in stories whispered into the night.
Because that love,
even displaced,
even aching,
still heals.

Grief is not the end
it is love,
still trying,
still searching,
still proving itself true.

And that type of Love will always be a part of you

Dedicated to those I love, who've lost, who are still grieving displaced love. 💔🦋