When this is over take the long way home,
talk to the dogs on the street about loneliness
and the art of making love under the open sky.
Click a picture of a stranger doing nothing,
Standing still,
living an ordinary life unaware of your existence.
Hold your mother's hands
observe the lines of her palms
the wrinkles on her skin
the intricate network of
veins carrying blood.
When this is over
go to a beach
or a mountain
and remember all good things
begins elsewhere.
Maybe you should not go anywhere
you should sit next to me
talk about how nothing makes sense anymore
Or maybe we should not talk about anything
we should make love
my body
your body
and our shared tragedy.
s.m
Notes On Grief: Part 1
Unlike the apple on my table, which will start rotting in the next few days. Grief remains raw like a fresh wound. The wound does not heal with time it becomes something else, something without a shape, size, or smell. It becomes everything and keeps changing its form with each passing day.Grief can bean empty chairmessy bedstained mirrorcigarette butsempty packets of chipsAmy Winehouse songsunread messagesMonsoon rainsBelow average poemsA splitting headacheand nothing.General Laws of physics don't apply to grief, time has no effect on it.Grief is a cage and which just gets bigger with time.We just get used to it, like an apple on a table.
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