Untethered

I am not whole, but I am here- barefoot on the edge of mourning, where no echo dares speak back. My mind is a locked room with the windows flung open. Grief dances in like a breeze- pretending to be gentle. No one sees the way my thoughts scatter like ash in water, each memory refusing to drown. Sometimes, I want to be the sky- unreachable, but always holding something back. But most days, I am just the Earth, cracked, waiting for rain that does not come. I have tried to anchor myself in people, in places, in the rhythm of the days that pretend to hold me- but every warmth slips through my grasp. like smoke through trembling hands. I am still Untethered.