Still Loving Them in Absence

My body still feels the imprint

of conversations it longs for.

The absence of people who matter.

The goodbyes said

and the ones that never got to happen.

My heart still aches

for people who are still alive.

I was never prepared

to grieve the living.

How painful that kind of loss is.

How the mind and heart

can continue holding someone

long after the shape of the connection changes.

So many of them.

And still, hope lingers.

Hope that eyes could meet again.

That words could still be shared.

Hope for mutual understanding.

For compassion.

The weight of ambiguous grief

feels like a sea turtle

pulling you slowly

into the depths of the ocean.

Heavy. Ancient.

Almost as if the grief

doesn’t move at all.

My chest carries them.

My tears remember them.

My memories hold onto the moments

I wish I could have shown up better.

And my mind,

it still reaches

for realities that will never be.

And with that comes shame.

Because with each person I carry,

I also carry parts of myself

that I no longer know how to hold.

Parts of me

that want to stay

with the turtle

in the depths of the ocean.