A Poem on Grief

They say that misery loves company. But if they say that(whoever they are), then they don’t know the meaning of love.

Misery, a sentiment brought on sometimes by love. Love of a lost one so dear, so perfect to this world, that from their passing will never come another. Of the love that came from them will never come another.

And so, we grieve. We wail and scream and dry heave until there is nothing in us left but empty space. Empty space, and memories that slip through our fingertips like sand.

Empty.

Empty.

Empty.

Nothing can fill the void.

No one can fill the void.

And this makes misery.

Misery so deep and grating that to see the sun again or smell the signs of spring mean nothing. Laughter means nothing, for amidst the notes of joy, you find the deafening silence of a missing sweetest tone. And that, is misery.

A misery so heavy that it radiates from your fingertips and your lips and your eyes and you feel ashamed. You feel afraid to speak or look at or touch anyone or anything at all. You’d probably be better off feeling nothing.

Misery is contagious, is it a virus, it is a killer.

Sometimes silent, and sometimes so loud a roar that your throat burns from screaming and you wish you could rip it out with your bare hands.

Love makes misery, but love is not misery.

Others are still on this earth who love you.

You cannot corrupt them.

You cannot make them your company.

Isolation becomes the answer.

Isolation.

Don’t talk to him, don’t answer her.

What you say is going to hurt them.

How you act is going to hurt them.

Your sullen face is going to hurt them.

What you’ve become is going to hurt them.

You are going to hurt them.

You do it because you love them.

You do it because you hurt them?

You do it because you love them.

It hurts you.

It hurts them.

It hurts you.

It hurts them.

Over and over and over.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

More dry heaving.

Don’t be selfish. Be selfish? No, don’t be selfish.

Is isolation selfish? Or is it salvation? Or is it destruction?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Why loss why me why you why him why her them why us? Why misery? Why love?

I want to let you take care of me but I can’t because the misery doesn’t let me take care of you. Because it’s taking care of me. Because it’s taking care of us.

I hate my misery.

But I love you, so that’s why I can’t make you my company. That’s why I can’t make you miserable.

But by not taking you with me,

I think you already are.

I’m sorry.

Show your support

Clapping shows how much you appreciated Wandy Felicita Ortiz’s story.