Grief Doesn’t Recede

Grief doesn’t recede; it waits. It comes in tempests and tsunamis, untethered by time, and lingering like the merciless heat of a searing summer. Uninvited, yet not wholly unwelcome—it’s a relief to feel: the pain means it was real. I’ve been a Tin Man, bereft of heart. Now, I’m split apart, red spray on golden hay, like it was yesterday.