Early Grave

Old people, they have always died.

Young people are dying.

But they always have. 

Gaza. Toronto. Congo. Mexico. Seoul. 

Why.

Mental. Physical. Intertwined. 

Click-clack. It initially just feels like Newton’s Pendulum. Swinging back and forth between wanting to live. And wanting to succumb to the pain. 

Until the strings break, and the balls scatter. Onto the floor. What now. 

Pick up the pieces.

One by one. 

You tie the strings together - stringing the balls through. 

But what was once broken can never be fully repaired. 

It works, similarly - but with kinks. 

Is it enough for you to keep though? To hold onto? That’s for you to decide.

Tragedy. It’s among us. My life is one. 

Loss comes with gain. 

Love comes with hate. 

Grief is so painful. I feel it in my head. I feel it in my chest. It’s hard to catch my breath. 

Where does all the love go. To a figure of you? 

Your ethereal presence. 

I can feel it. But it scares me sometimes. 

I miss you. Love you. Eternally.

They tell me to move on.

How can I?

When the love I searched for. Hoped for. Prayed for. Was right in front of me.

I carry the pain now

Of your love. And of loving you.

A weight I can barely carry. But try my best to. Every day.