Tag: Grief
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The Weight of Words Unspoken
In the hospital room where silence grows thick as fog, I watch my father’s hands—once steady as oak branches, now trembling like autumn leaves against the stark white sheet. A deeply sensory exploration of watching a parent’s decline, where antiseptic burns the nostrils and unsaid conversations pool at our feet like storm clouds that never…
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The Quiet Triumph of Staying #QuietMoments
He no longer chases completeness, but learns to honor the spaces where sorrow and grace coexist. In each breath, in each silent ritual, he rediscovers the tenderness that never truly left him. There’s no grand declaration, only the quiet vow to remain open—to pain, to beauty, to life itself.
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The Light That Finds You #poetry
You, who have gathered your scars into a quiet constellation and learned to cradle heartbreak gently, rise again each morning—tired, yes, but stitched with hope. Every breath is a quiet testament that you are still here, still loving, still becoming.
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Permission to Be Human: The Validation Station
You are not crazy for talking to the moon, for finding faces in the clouds, for believing that the wind carries messages from the dead… This poetic journey explores the sacred permission to be fully human—to feel deeply, heal slowly, and trust in the magic that lives within our bones.
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When Silence Speaks Louder
In the cathedral of unspoken words, where echoes gather like dust on windowsills, I trace the outline of your absence with fingertips that remember the geography of your skin. The house breathes differently now—each room a vessel holding the weight of conversations we will never have…
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The Sink Still Drips (Grief Echoing Through Familiar Spaces)
“I still hear the clatter of forks, not from today, but from a Tuesday three Octobers ago when the soup boiled over and your laughter rose above the steam…” This poem lingers in the stillness of a kitchen that remembers—where every stir, every crack in the tile, and every whisper of cinnamon tells the story…
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What Mamaw Told the Creek
“Don’t cross no river mad,” she’d warn. “It remembers.” In the hush of Tucker’s Ridge, Mamaw held the past like a quilt in her lap—stitched with floods, love gone sideways, and the music of a creek that always knew more than it said.
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The Ones Who Knew How to Sing (a meditation in birdsong) #NaPoWriMo #24
In a world cluttered with noise and stories, birds remind us that healing doesn’t need a reason, and song doesn’t ask for silence to begin. A lyrical meditation on grief, hope, and the quiet courage of birdsong.
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The Bench of Whispers #MonologuePoem #PoeticMonologue
In a quiet corner of Delhi, Elara sits on a familiar park bench, speaking softly to her late husband, Rohan. Through memories, reflections, and subtle grief, she weaves a poignant monologue that captures love, loss, and the delicate act of holding on—even when one must eventually let go.
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Letting Go: Why It’s Okay to Feel Pain When Ending Relationships and Other Significant Things
Letting go of someone or something that was once significant to us can be a painful process, but it’s a necessary part of moving forward. Whether it’s ending a toxic relationship or saying goodbye to a cherished hobby, the pain that comes with letting go is a sign that our feelings were genuine. By embracing…
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