She holds hands with grief every night, and sometimes sneak him in the daylight too. She wears a smile on her wrists while her heart hangs low like a fruity branch of a tree off season, waiting to be aimed by a gang of school kids. She leaves the backdoor of her house open,waiting for happiness to make a surprise visit. Every time the doorbell rings, her heart skips a beat like the heart of a sailor's wife when her husband comes home. She blossoms with a scintilla of hope she hid away under her pillow to keep it safe years agp.
She sees the silhouette of happiness standing in the doorway.
A lazy curve of lips as if it's foreign.
Cautious footsteps for a closer look.
A glance dripping anxiety. As she gets, he pushes back the hood on him. He looks less like happiness now.
She feels like throwing up the heart stuck in her stomach.
A repeating cycle. Always the same grief dressed in different outfits each time, in a new form. It always looks like happinesss from afar,like spring is green at a distance.
She realises,
grief is just happiness in a grey hood.
@kookiesvero
-Verosha-