26/03/2026
Some days, I don’t move at all,
not because I can’t—
but because everything inside me
feels paused in a place I can’t leave.
I sit there, holding myself together,
as if the smallest shift might undo me.
Even the air feels heavier,
like it knows I’m carrying too much.
People talk about grief like it’s a process,
something that moves from one step to another.
But no one tells you about the stillness—
how it can settle into your bones.
The world continues without hesitation,
clocks ticking, voices passing by.
And I stay here, caught between moments,
unable to match their pace.
A small presence rests near me,
quiet, watchful, patient.
It doesn’t try to fix anything—
just stays, like I wish you could.
Maybe that’s what I need most right now,
not answers or movement—
just something that understands
how hard it is to simply exist like this.
And in this stillness, I learn slowly—
grief doesn’t always move… sometimes it holds you.
—Memories of You
