what is grief, if not love persevering?

You can sense the storm before it approaches. You can feel it in the salty stillness of the air and the heavy humidity. The omen of imminent change. You can do nothing about it. Everything seems to be waiting for the inevitable to happen. Acceptance is a comfort in itself.

 Then the sky splits open. The clouds weep and rain slashes violently. The wind howls, a mysterious creature crying in misery. The sorrows embrace you, your companion in the worst of your time. And then it all subsides as quietly as it began. The sky lightens with the infiltrating rays of the evening sun. The wind hushes down to soft whispers. The storm leaves everything bruised yet beautiful. It leaves traces of grief on everything it touched. 

 When the acceptance has asked its leave and the sorrows have left you battered, it is grief that accompanies you on your lonely dinners. It sits beside you as you sit in your bed early morning, waiting for some miracle to happen. It travels with you on your daily commute. It watches you pile another heap of dirty dishes. Its presence bothers you, weighs on your mind, makes you forget sugar in your tea. Keys are left home, forgotten. The fruits rot in the kitchen. Grief doesn’t budge. It watches you fumble through life. It waits patiently for you to acknowledge it.

 If the sorrows had lingered, life would have been unbearable. But grief, gradually, becomes less of a burden and more of a companion. Even unsweetened tea tastes perfect. You buy yourself a new purse. Oranges are better when you peel them for yourself on kitchen counter. 

A bitter sweet flavor colors your daily life. You have your roots entangled with grief. Sadness has made a home out of you. But the deeper the roots, the prettier the flowers. When the petals unfurl, the scent spreads. Flowers bloom even on graves. The loneliness doesn’t haunt you anymore. Crossroads don’t have to be crossed instantly. 

Life begins to blossom in simple pleasure. You realize that if life is a tedious cycle of washing dirty dishes and doing dirty laundry, it is also a savory routine with delicious meals and clean clothes.

 Grief stays with you when you have lost everything, filling the hole of absence created by misfortunes with wild grasses and sublime sunsets and crisp newspapers and new tv shows and healthy breakfasts and quiet evenings and kind people. When all is lost, you still have yourself. Maybe loneliness isn’t heartache. Its just the absence of a necessity that you have yet to discover. Meanwhile, why not flourish what we already have? Why cram all that love in your heart when you can pour it in your tea cups and serve it to the world? With a cube or two of grief? Afterall, what is grief, if not love persevering?