A Letter From Grief

Dear one,

Please do not fear.

I do not have sharp fangs. No red, beady eyes in sight. I do not lurk in dark corners or scratch at the door in the night.

I arrive softly, often when you least expect me…when the room is still, when their name settles in your chest like a held breath.

I know you wish I weren’t here. Believe me, nor do I. I would gladly trade my place for one more laugh, one more chat over coffee, one more chance to hear the way they said your name.

But I am what love becomes when it has nowhere to go.

I am not here to punish you, nor to harm you. I am here to remind you. To tap gently on your shoulder when the world urges you forward too quickly. To say: stop — remember them here.

I will echo their smile when the edges of the day feel dull. I will pull at your heartstrings…not to wound you, but to prove you remain in tune to them.

When the emptiness grows heavy, when silence presses its weight against your chest, that is me sitting beside you, holding the shape of what was lost so you don’t have to hold it alone.

Perhaps we can face this together. Not bravely. Not neatly. But honestly.

I will walk with you through the memories that ache and glow in tandem. I will teach you how to say their name without apology. How to carry love onward without pretending it didn’t change.

I am not a monster. I am a witness. A companion born of devotion. I am proof that they mattered…that they still do.

And one day, when my presence feels lighter, when I visit less often, please don’t mistake that for forgetting. It will only mean you’ve learned how to carry them inside your living.

But for now, I hope you will allow me to stay. To keep their name warm.