Grief is like a flu you just can’t get over.
Like an itch you can’t scratch.
You forget it’s there. Just for a moment. And then it hits you.
Like a wave.
Or a brick wall.
You have moments where you feel completely fine. Better than fine. Great, even. And then you wonder why you’re so depleted. Why you feel so drained. Why you can’t even function. And then you remember.
That thing called life.
With its inevitable death.
That thing called grief.
Like an immune disease that won’t let you be.
It grips your heart and claws at your skin.
It wraps you in a paralysing embrace.
It won’t just let you be.
You try to fight it.
But you can’t.
It just is.