When Grief is Silent

It’s the end of the party when the last guest leaves and the door shuts behind them- the stillness of a room that was once full of movement and dishes clanging, music, chaos and conversations. All that’s left is the crumpled up napkins, the low humming of the fridge, chairs pressed together, all of the lights in the house on for no one.

And for a moment, the memories of the party keep you warm. In passing, with flickers of a word or a hug, a touch of a hand. A two-second clip of someone you love smiling at you.

As the flame gets smaller, you find yourself leaning in closer and closer, hands hovering in hopes of feeling that vibrating heat for just a moment.

A memory on repeat dilutes exponentially.