Descriptions

How many ways have I described grieving? How many metaphors or passages have I created in order to say the grief is something “else”? How many ways have I tried to make people understand? I went back through some of my own writing…
I saw Grief clearly. She was frail and cloaked in black.
My color is white. Sterile. The absence of color.
Grief is a canyon. Layers and layers of unforgiving expanse.
Death is clear, firm absence of what we knew. That part of our lives becomes irreversible.