Grief is a winter with no fixed end date,
no forecast, no reliable spring,
it comes and goes by rules you didn't write
and refuses to answer to anything.

Some days it lifts for hours at a stretch
and you dare to think you've crossed the line—
and then it closes back around you
and you cannot see the sign.

But winter always ends. Even the long ones.
Even the ones that take the whole year through.
The grief you carry now is not forever,
though it feels like it is something new each morning you wake to.
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