I am sitting here in grief.
Grief that is not mine to possess.
I can touch the memory of laughing with my son last night.
Talking about his future. Memories from the past.
Enjoying the moment between us two.
He sits with me now in the quiet as I write.
He is working. I can reach out. He is there. Breathing.
I see life. His life.
My heart is heavy for the mother. The father. They belonged to him.
He was theirs. His heartbeat.
All they have are the memories. Palpable. Grief. Life.
That space in between. Disbelief.
Primal. I can feel them.
I must hold my head. I can hear their piercing screams.
It is my imagination. The cries. They belong to me.
I reach out. I hear silence now. I see life. I see my son.