The experience of grief

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Sometimes when the weight of the emptiness pulls me down, I place both hands on my chest, holding my heart, so it doesn't fall apart again.

Other times it falls apart too fast, and the gold dust that was covering the cracks, the dust I pretended was glue, escape through my fingers, never to be seen again.

I think I loose a few pieces of my heart each time if falls apart, never to be found again in the cold vastness of the emptiness I carry inside.

An emptiness I can’t get rid of. I welcome it, a dark visitor that's here to stay, a true companion for life.

Grief.

DENA ARGYROPOULOS