I embrace my grief like an old friend, 
and invite her in for tea.
The kettle sings for us a mourning song.

My melancholy streams into our cups.
I sink into the dark liquid and the warmth
settles into my chest, 
soothing the ache of the space you left. 

She tells me Time closes all wounds, but
the mausoleum in my heart only grows
and grows. 
With every loss, I carve a new tomb out of
memories and longing. 

Exhaling, the ghost of your fingertips drag
along my ribcage
as my heart heaves under the weight of all our endings.

Chest burning, I empty my cup, but keep
pouring another
and another 
and another
until the kettle is empty. 

I embrace my grief like an old friend, 
and invite her to stay a little while longer— 
filling the space you left.