02/19/2026
A single rose stands tall,
its leaves drifting down around it.
The background is muted and gray,
like a sky that refuses drama.
Grief has never moved in a straight line.
It changes tone without warning.
One morning it is heavy and slow.
By evening, it is sharp and restless.
I used to wait for it to disappear.
To step aside politely.
To loosen its grip
and let life return unchanged.
But it does not work that way.
The rose still grows.
The leaves still fall.
And I still wake up.
Some days I function quietly.
Other days I feel the ache in everything.
Not worse. Not better.
Just different than yesterday.
I have stopped trying to outrun it.
Stopped looking for shortcuts.
I walk straight through the middle
of whatever it becomes that day.
And slowly, I see this truth—
grief reshapes the landscape,
but I am still here,
learning its shifting weather.
— May God Grant You Always
