There is something comforting
about the first law of thermodynamics—
that energy can neither be created
nor destroyed.
It only changes form.
So I tell myself
that nothing about you is truly gone.
The warmth once held in your hands
did not simply vanish.
It slipped quietly into the world,
into walls,
into winter air,
into every space you ever touched.
The breath that left your lungs
still exists somewhere—
it became part of the world again.
Even now,
the atoms that once moved
when you laughed
continue their endless motion through the universe.
And maybe that is why
grief feels so heavy.
Grief is love with nowhere to go.
So it transforms into mourning.
Becomes silence.
Becomes the unbearable habit
of still reaching for you.
But sometimes,
when sunlight falls warm across my skin
or the wind moves suddenly around me,
I allow myself to believe
some small part of you
is still here.
Not gone.
Only transformed.
YOU ARE READING
|POEMS| The untold words...
Poetry|I never told you And you will never know The secrets the stars whispered to me That night under the moon| Cover credits to: @LeroyGraphics
