Grief can be a burden, but also an anchor. You get used to the weight, how it holds you in place.
Grieving doesn't make you imperfect. It makes you human.
That was the hard thing about grief, and the grieving. They spoke another language, and the words we knew always fell short of what we wanted them to say.
Maybe that's what you got when you stood over your grief, facing it finally. A sense of its depths, its area, the distance across, and the way over or around it, whichever you chose in the end.
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