Shifting Slowly

Grief is intrusive—
it rises whenever it wants,
uninvited.

A sudden memory,
eyes filling fast,
a deep missing,
a loneliness
that lands like a shock.

How?
Again and again—
How?
Just… how?

We were just laughing.
Just planning our weekend.
You just—
and we just—
and then
just…
just…

Every single just
turns into a reason,
a reminder,
a wound.

Because you were dying,
and we just thought we had time.
We just thought you might be a miracle.
We just thought we’d get one more summer—
just one more chance
to bring you home
to your childhood streets,
to end things
on a gentler note.

Instead
you just
died.

And we are here,
just grieving,
just trying to make sense
of how you were just here,
just alive,
just being you.