They define grief as many things. One said it is anger that is stripped by time to reveal love. Some say it is the emotion you feel when you see your pile of unexpressed confessions you could not send. Eventually, it boils down to anguish and resentment - whether directed to them or yourself. It leaves you pondering all the "what-ifs" and "had I said something earlier" and all the "it could have been me". You won't tell them, though. Maybe you can't.
Grief teaches us many things; it teaches us not to take the same path towards sadness twice.
It taught me to find other ways to reach grief: same old outcomes, different streets. With you, I learned to swallow the disappointment and replace it with a smile. I learned to ignore assumptions and learn to plant my feet on the boundaries you placed. Knew to reply with distant laughter.
The tricky thing about grief is it comes when you are unprepared. Maybe you will tell yourself that you're okay with whatever outcome. But grief blooms like every other emotion: planted by doubt, watered by acquiescence to fate, cultivated in quiet moments alone. While we don't always grieve death, we will always grieve every loss.
I have exhausted my resentment for people who couldn't give back half of my sincerity in the past. It is 10:45 AM with morning fog and you're in my mind. I see gravestones emerge in our friendship but I know you were sincere, and you knew I was too. Perhaps that is the force that pushes us to pursue.
