Shall I tell you about grief?
I shall not.
For there are no words for roads that were never taken and trips that were never planned and hands that were never held and parts that were never pieced and seeds that were never planted and lies that were never truthed and stories that were never told and words that were never spoken and mistakes that were never fixed and hopes that were never dashed and pieces that were never wholed and fingers that were never fitted and gifts that were never given and chances that were never taken and damns that were never given and answers that were never questioned and questions that were never answered because, how, how could words ever express any of these things? There are no words for these things. No words to lock them in.
If only words were doors that opened outward and not inward, taking us out instead of locking us in.
If only words were doors that opened outward and not inward, taking us out instead of locking us in.
I know … xx