Lifting my eyes to the sun, I blink the world quiet.
Ribboning waves thread to sands of silk.
Golden rays and the tickle of giggles brush me with warmth.
This is perfection.
But this is grief.
Grief is standing in the most beautiful place you have ever known,
walking as close to heaven as you are far.
Picturing the rise and the fall of breath you can’t feel across your cheek.
Sensing the weight of a head of curls that will never brush your shoulder.
Reaching for a hand that should fit perfectly in yours but never will
and listening for a heartbeat that stopped long ago.
Grief is anchored in an air full of longing
and lost dreams
and missed birthdays.
Grief is the pull of waves that keeps you from dancing on the shore.
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