Summer turned to winter; half a year is gone.
Six months, 6 – so neat, it doesn’t sound so long.
My grief is not neat.
My journey is not linear.
My sorrow does not rhyme
(most of the time).
This marker feels an empty one to me,
Its tidiness finding no resonance in my unsettled heart.
I have not found whatever I was seeking for today,
Perhaps a way to keep my fears at bay?
But I have found within this night instead
Merely that you are still, and forever, dead.