An Unfinished Letter

Some days, it is a whisper… a leaf brushing the window in a slow moving breeze, almost familiar. Almost comforting.

Other days, it is the tide of a hurricane… dragging me undertow before I remember how to swim.

I trace your voice in the chirping of birds… in the static between songs.

The calendar lies. Time is never linear…it spirals. A laugh tucked in a stranger’s tone, a spoon clinking in a quiet kitchen, listening to your voice on the answering machine…

I am learning the geometry of absence. How a chair bends under the weight of nothing, how a shadow grows teeth.

Grief is not a straight line, it is the whole tangled knot of you, pulled tight, then loose, then tight again.

I keep waiting for the world to make sense without you. Instead, it unfolds like a letter I can’t bear to finish reading.