residual grief. a resilient appreciation.
Maybe our more has already been made available. Maybe we just need to acknowledge it.
*cover photo by Daniele Levis Pelusi on Unsplash*
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TW: car accident
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When I see the hood of the car looking more like an accordion smashed into the flower stand I walk by often on the way to one of my favorite parks, it makes my stomach turn. My heartbeat crescendoes, and I stand in the narrow walkway between two busy streets, trying to calm myself. Focus kamil, breathe in. As horns blare, people stare, and emergency vehicles use their sirens and microphones to let everyone else know they need to get through now, I stand frozen.
The grief of a time long past but still present cuts through every piece of my body. I coach myself across the street, whispering, "It's okay. You're okay." At the same time, I simultaneously pray that no one sees me freaking out. It's been two days since that happened. Part of me wonders if I'm now avoiding one of my favorite places because of how quickly one moment had taken me back to one of my least favorite places.
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