Grief is a sacred
human experience.
Layered and complex.
Sometimes, it descends
as a tender mist
upon your world,
covering everything in sight.
At other times, it ascends
as a geyser,
blowing open
the cracked, frescoed ceiling
of your heart.
Perhaps, it’s time
to build an altar.
An inner sanctuary.
A place where it is simply
allowed to exist,
without expectations
or timelines.
A place you visit often
with hushed reverence
and remembrance.
Remembrance
of all that it means
to be human,
both immensely resilient
and incredibly fragile.
Desperate and yet unable
to understand the mysteries
of our arrival
and departure,
and so very much in between.
Reverence
as a deep bow
to the pain
who stayed,
even as you mended,
to the ache
that seeped,
into your bones
and restructured
your entire anatomy
of being.
You are different now.
Your eyes,
deep and tender,
ever-softened to suffering,
your heart
cradle-shaped
and porous,
dampened with solace,
but somehow
still
buoyant.
—deborah quibell
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