Grief is weird. All of these years of being friends and I still get surprised by the way grief shows up uninvited and unannounced. 

Today is one of those days where all of the people I have left and lost throughout my life combine into one. All of the ways that I couldn't be who they wanted or needed me to be string together. All of the things that I almost said stack up against all of the things that I shouldn't have said and the scale trembles under the weight unable to determine which regret is heavier. 

I feel small and unlovable in a deep and ineffable way. I've determined that these days are just pain for pain's sake. My reptile heart is shedding its skin. No matter how loud and angry I get, there's still all of these soft, broken pieces that it is too late to protect. No matter how nice and accommodating I am, someone is bound to step on the debris. 

And I wonder, truly wonder how long until I really feel whole. But that's not the right way of thinking about this. Tomorrow I might feel whole. Tomorrow I might feel worse. And I know that I used to feel broken all of the time and walk around like I owed the world an explanation for how I could show up in so many pieces. My broken days are much less frequent than they they were 10 years ago. But this last year has conspired to remind me of exactly where I come from in every possible way. I spent a month digging through the corners of my trauma. I feel raw and fragile, like if someone leaves the window open, the winter wind will take me away. 

I wonder if all humans have days like this where the ache is all that is real or just some of us. Music helps. So does poetry and really every other art. Feeling connected to humanity and also feeling the hurts of someone else can help give structure to a grief that could easily drown you.