To give a name to this dark pain in my chest. Grief.
Grief is my reflection, it is the only product of my parents that remains besides myself. The only evidence they ever met.
A shadow fully formed with my own features staring back.
Grief is the one that whispers in my ear, all the reasons I could disappear. I could become someone else, should become someone else, for there’s no one here to remember me. To miss me. To need me. To love me.
Grief is the passenger on every long drive, on every hike and every silent moment who sits watching in silent contemplation until it is their moment to strike. Grief stands, tall and menacing, looming over me and waiting for that single second of silence where they can swoop in to remind me of all that is lost.
All that will never be again.
Grief sits rocking in silent screams at 3 am, staring at the ceiling, praying for absolution. Grief dreams of escape, of a new life and a faraway land, all the while afraid to leave the room or venture outside into the sun. This dark twin I never knew would come, who would sit heavy with me and force me to stay still inside the pain with them.
Grief is me.
I’m sorry we had to meet.