Grief and I did not grow up together

I was not familiar with its voice or its rhythm

I did not know its weight or how it could rearrange

the furniture of my soul overnight, when

my darling Mum unexpectedly taken from us

it kicked down the door, barged in, took off its shoes

and sat in the centre of my life, refusing to leave

Since then, grief and I have an intricate relationship

I came to know it not just as pain, but as a new

loyal companion, and a diabolical housemate, as it

does not clean up after itself, it does not stay in

one room, some days, it is quiet, almost invisible

other days, it sprawls out in every corner of my mind

muddying everything with memory and sorrow

Grief and I, we have fought so damn hard, I have

begged it to go away, I have screamed into pillows

I have surrendered to its aching embrace, letting

my tears fall freely, I have resisted it with everything

I have, but grief is patient, it waits, it takes my breath

and gives me haunting silence, and it always finds its

way back, not out of cruelty, but out of persistence

So here we are, grief and I, learning how to coexist

I do not love it, I do not even know how to hate it

we still do not get along, and I do not expect we

ever will, and so, I have stopped trying to exile it

but I have started to understand that it does not

come to punish, but to testify, because it only exists

where love once lived, and sometimes, that is enough