My Life In Word

Quiet Gravity

I loved you
like the moon
loves the night sky—
not loudly,
but constantly,
by remaining.
I suppose that is why
goodbye never learned
how to leave my mouth.
Even eight years on,
I am still holding on,
knuckles white with memory.
I carry the pain
as if it were proof—
a quiet gravity
pulling me backward
through ordinary days.
Grief does not fade;
it rearranges the light.
Some mornings
I wake in disbelief,
surprised the world still turns
without you anchoring it.
Yet here I am,
learning how to exist
in a sky that keeps its moon.

Simona A. Brinson

Photo by Emilia Niedźwiedzka on Unsplash

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