Time cannot touch my love. Where my heart resides, there are no clocks. Grief is no different. I let time touch it. Romance it, swish it around like mouth wash and spit it right back when I was ‘ready’.
I wasn’t.
I then sat with it. Accepted it. Cried and ate through it. Read the five stages of grief to it and asked time to gently pass it back when I was ‘ready’.
I wasn’t.
My love doesn’t understand time, they’re not even distant cousins. They don’t coincide. There is no end date here. Because grief is love in deep pain and neither recognise time.
So now, neither do I.
