“There’s a bobby pin, two receipts, and my mother’s voice trapped in a voicemail I haven’t had the courage to delete. my lipstick sits there too the one I wore the day I didn’t cry. No one asks why I keep a drawer full of matchboxes and apology notes. Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I trace the ring mark left by an old mug and imagine it’s a constellation. I tell myself the bedside table is not clutter it’s just the only place I keep remembering to live. Some days, I organize it. Most days, it organizes me.” LoveDeathMotherPoetryLossGriefHealingSadLongingHearbreak Book:A Shelf of Things I Never Said Source: A Shelf of Things I Never Said
“Hospitals are quiet in the wrong way. Not the kind of quiet that soothes but the kind that holds its breath. Metal beds with stiff sheets, monitors that blink like half-truths. I watch grief drip slowly from IV bags, measured, saline, polite. There’s a chair near the window I never sit in. It knows too much.” LoveDeathPoetryLossGriefHealingSadLongingHospitalHearbreak Book:A Shelf of Things I Never Said Source: A Shelf of Things I Never Said