Which season was your favorite? I wish I could hold the hands of a younger me. I’d tell her to keep trying, but not too hard. I’d kiss her forehead and tell her to eat the fear. I’d hold her close and tell her to love herself without looking backwards for approval to do so. Autumn tastes different and I’m getting used to the sour notes at the end of each word. I realize grief stings in unexpected ways. People will never understand it unless they’ve held a form of loss, but that’s okay too. I miss my childhood home and the feeling of not knowing how the world can poison the purest situations. I miss having everyone I love within arms length. I miss the excitement before the holidays. Now I dust off this coffin and stretch my arms for a new day. I forget about the holidays but still let my mom decorate the house for her peace. We say prayers about my father before eating and ask him to heal us from heaven if he can. I call the days as I see them and roll into the monotony of each gathering with a masked hello. It reeks of sadness whether I like it or not. Everyone chants, “sad girl walking” and I bow before my exit. Wash my palms with tears to let the salt heal me. Cover my wounds with flowers to try and remember what growth feels like in the bloom. Try to love myself over again and again and again. Make room for the seasons. -AMT©️