03/05/2026
It's okay to grieve.
The field is pale and endless,
flowers barely rising through the mist.
I sit with my back turned to the world,
watching a single bird cut across the sky.
The balloon above me tugs upward,
its red louder than anything else here.
I don’t chase it.
I just let it hover, like a question.
People keep asking how I’m doing.
I say I’m managing.
I say I’m fine enough.
But the truth sits heavy in my lap.
No, I am not okay.
Not in the quiet hours before morning.
Not when I turn to share something
and remember there’s no one beside me.
The flowers don’t bloom brighter for my sake.
The sky doesn’t lean closer.
Everything feels gently indifferent,
soft but unmoved.
I miss you in small, stubborn ways—
in the empty chair across the table,
in the second cup I still almost pour.
The bird disappears into the clouds.
The balloon keeps floating above me.
And I sit here, honest at last.
— Missing You Always