The Gentle Erosion

The Slow Undoing of Connection

The gentle erosion of space by time,

The feel of hands grown cold as mine.

There's something about you,

You leave pieces behind.

Would that it were enough

We were once sublime.

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A moment to touch, the laughs we shared,

The lingering words stir me in bed.

Sweep the mind's floor,

But there's always more

In dust motes dancing

From the light of a cracked door.

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All things lose their shine;

Not all things are mine.

Unfolding like verses,

Forgetting the rhyme.

A silence to hold in place where warmth lay.

There's been times since you left

Where you've never gone away.

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This applies to relationships too.

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I don't think I handle certain things well; loss is something that still baffles me. Especially when distance had been present even in life, object permanence has a funny way of messing with the interpretation of what is temporary and what is permanent.

Grief is rarely a sudden collapse. It is a slow unbecoming of sorts. How often we'd prefer to clear and order the persistent fragments of what love leaves behind, but some things are just not so easy. There is a beauty and a weight to love such that it's only right it costs something. The price to pay though, is in the erosion, when absence becomes a kind of presence too.

John 11:34–35

And he said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Lord, come and see.” Jesus wept.