A little bit uncomfortable.
A tiny bit of darkness around the edges.
A missing. A yearning.
A grief that nibbles from time to time
at your insides like a mouse —
not mean spirited, not intending harm.
That’s just what grief does.
It plays in the background, like cicadas
in summer. Like a radio on low volume.
Every now and then, the music surges,
an advertisement blares,
catching your attention. You notice it,
slightly puzzled, and then it fades,
gradually, into the background again.
(c) 2020 by Hannah Six
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