John Thomas

I sit beside you
while the world goes on outside,
untouched by what you have lost.
I do not reach for the words
that should comfort,
do not offer answers or a path out.
Grief has its own voice,
a language that must be learned
through silence,
and I am learning it now.

I will not tell you
it will be better,
will not smooth over
the rough edges of your sorrow.
I will stay with you in this quiet ache,
in the strange stillness
that fills the room between us.

The sky, indifferent,
holds its own weight of clouds,
and we sit beneath it,
breathing the same air
but knowing that nothing,
not this moment,
not this closeness,
will ever be enough
to erase the emptiness.

There is no fixing it,
and I will not try.
I will only stay.

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