Grief as a living creature
Lately, I keep hearing footsteps echoing in the distance.
Soft. Measured. Patient.
I turn—
but there’s no one there.
I tell myself it’s nothing.
Probably just my mind playing tricks.
But now the footsteps don't just echo.
They stop when I turn to look back.
When I walk,
I catch glimpses of a shadow that doesn't belong to me.
When I go to bed,
I see indentations on my bed that don't match my shape.
In my sleep,
I feel the weight beside me—
the slow rise and fall of breathing that is not mine.
Through my closed eyes, i cant help but feel like I'm being watched.
I feel a hand brush my hair.
Too afraid to look up,
I don’t open my eyes.
And after a while, he disappears.
I open my eyes, and there's nothing but absence.
And I begin to believe I imagined him.
I start laughing again.
Walk with ease .
I stop questioning my mind.
Life goes on,
And I forget.
Until one day—
While doing something ordinary as listening to music in bed,
I feel a presence beside me—
I look up.
And he is there.
Turns out he never left.
He was always there.
Watching.
Lurking in the shadows,
Waiting for me let down my guard,
before he reminds me I was never out of his reach.
With a heavy chest, I slowly look up and finally meet his eyes.
He is a man I do not know and yet-
He wears a face I know all too well.
He introduces himself.
His name is grief.
And he wears my father’s face.
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