The shape of grief. Drawing Luke Hockley.
Grief is a strange shape.
Hiding between the cracks of the every day.
Slipping between the sheets of a sleepless night.
Clinging to the edges of an unwashed plate.
Angry on the pointed edges of an unfinished day.
A list of anticipation and expectation.
An unnamed headache.
It lacks reason. It doesn’t try to make sense.
An invisible weight I carry each day.
My grief is strange shape,
impossible to hold.
Love
Luke
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Day 806