Sometimes you just have to get better.
You have to grow.
There is no time for therapy, or friends, or hot tubs or yoga or journaling about it.
There is no space to meditate or breathe into the softness.
This does not mean you are pushing or bad or hard as a rock.
Or maybe you are.
But that doesn’t matter.
Because you are in pain.
So lie down. Right now, face first on the earth and feel her body holding you up.
And understand that right now you are alone.
No one can understand you.
The grief is too great.
Your expectations are too high.
It’s yours and no one else’s.
Not your partner or your father or your best friend can carry you along.
No one is failing you.
No one can do anything and whatever they do would be wrong anyway.
Because amidst all the warmth and love and bodies and care; you are still alone.
And it has to be this way.
You have to feel the loss that deeply.
You have to be gutted.
It’s your way of honouring them.
You love that much.
It won’t get any better.
Time will not heal.
And a vacation won’t perk you up.
You are different now.
You carry a heavier backpack full of new beliefs and sacred things.
And we don’t feel sorry for you because some of us have been there too.
We feel sad but we know there is not much to be done.
And poetry is fucking rude and positive thoughts are down right disrespectful.
You miss them and that will never change.
So feel the scope of your limitless sorrow.
Be undone by it.
Embrace the cold earth.
Wail and wait with your cheek on the ground.
Just stop everything. Don’t move. Don’t try.
And only you will know when it’s time to rise.