Love remains

Posted on by

26

*Picture is my own*

I leave flowers on your grave
soft offerings for a silence 
that never answers
their petals stir in the wind
as if they too are trying
to speak your name without breaking
I kneel beside 
the earth that keeps you 
wondering how something so vast 
can fit inside a handful of memories
the flowers will wither
the seasons will turn
but grief has its own roots
growing deeper each time 
I come here looking for you 
in a place that can only 
hold your bones
and never the light you left behind

and still
I bring them
not because you can see them
but because love has never learned 
how to arrive empty handed
I tell myself that somewhere 
beyond my understanding 
you knew I was here
that every bloom 
is another way of saying 
I have not forgotten
one day my hands 
will stop bringing flowers
but until then
they will keep blooming 
where my heart still insists 
you are only sleeping

26 thoughts on “Love remains”

  9. Haunting. Powerful. Compelling. Emotional. Poignant.

    Haunting to consider “soft offerings for a silence that never answers”

    Powerful to consider “love has never learned to arrive empty handed”

    Compelling to consider “wondering how something so vast can fit inside a handful of memories”

    Emotional to consider “grief has its own roots that grow deeper each time I come here looking for you”

    Poignant to consider “the place can only hold your bones and not the light you left behind”

    Jenn, your writing is all of these things. But certainly poignant. Because this blog, your journals, your heart, are places that only hold your words and not the light you have to give. Your words, your photography, your blog, your art…they can only merely hold your art… a museum of The Creative Chic…but much like the exhibits in the Louvre herself, the true art is in the connection to the reader…the viewer…the consumer. Therefore, as haunting, powerful, compelling, emotional, and poignant your art is, the truest beauty is in your connection to the reader. It, for me, is simply beautiful. Like your own library that hides a million stories.

    I look forward to each.

    10p10

    Reply

    • There is something profoundly intimate about being read, not simply for the words we leave behind, but for the pieces of ourselves that live quietly between them. So much of what I write, photograph, and create is an attempt to give shape to things I don’t always know how to say aloud. I suppose this little space has become a kind of home for those pieces of me.

      I love what you said about my “own library that hides a million stories.” Perhaps that is what I’ve been building all along, a room filled with fragments of light, memory, longing, beauty, and all the things I’m still learning how to hold.
      Thank you for stepping inside.

      Thank you for reading slowly enough to see me there.

      And most of all, thank you for reminding me that sometimes the art we make becomes something more beautiful when it finds another heart to live in.

      I’m so grateful you’re here. ❤️

      Reply

Leave a comment