Through the Fog

Tag: grief and healing

  • The Things That Stay

    Some things leave.

    People.

    Promises.

    Versions of yourself

    you thought would last forever.

    They slip away quietly,

    without asking permission,

    without caring

    how badly you wanted them to stay.

    I used to chase them.

    Used to run after endings

    like I could change their minds,

    like enough love,

    enough effort,

    enough pain

    could make something remain.

    But loss

    has never listened to bargaining.

    It takes what it takes.

    And eventually

    you get tired

    of chasing ghosts

    through doors

    that only open one way.

    So you stop.

    Not because it hurts less.

    Because you finally understand

    that some things

    aren’t meant to be carried forever.

    Still—

    not everything leaves.

    The lessons stay.

    The scars.

    The songs that remind you

    of who you were.

    The strength you never wanted

    but somehow earned.

    And maybe

    that’s the strange gift of surviving—

    realizing that while life

    takes more than its share,

    it leaves something behind too.

    A wiser heart.

    A deeper soul.

    A quieter understanding

    of what truly matters.

    So let the leaving happen.

    Let the endings end.

    Trust that what belongs to you

    isn’t always the thing that stays—

    sometimes it’s the person

    you become

    after it’s gone.

  • The Weight I Carry

    Some days

    I carry the weight of everything—

    every mistake,

    every goodbye,

    every version of myself

    I wish I could forget.

    Not because I want to.

    Because it follows me.

    In quiet moments.

    In songs I didn’t expect.

    In the pause

    between one thought

    and the next.

    I tell myself

    to put it down.

    As if grief

    is something you can leave

    on a table

    and walk away from.

    But some things

    cling to your hands.

    Some memories

    learn your shape

    so well

    they fit inside you

    like they were always meant

    to live there.

    And maybe

    that’s what growing older is—

    not learning how to forget,

    but learning how to carry

    what stays.

    The regrets.

    The losses.

    The people

    who became stories

    instead of futures.

    Still—

    I keep moving.

    Not because the weight

    gets lighter.

    But because somewhere along the way

    I got stronger

    than the things

    trying to drag me down.

    And maybe that’s enough.

    Maybe survival

    isn’t the absence of burden—

    maybe it’s learning

    how to walk forward

    with it anyway.