White Hot the rewrite

[medusamama]

My grief is not so white hot.
It does not flow from me.
Molten.
Messy and all consuming.
Swollen open and seeping.
Hoping to callous.

The grief moves.
It floats in each inhale, and
Moves through me
But not
From me
In each exhale.

Pema says that in each exhale is
Death.
It comforts me to know this.

I don’t check her blog anymore.
I exhale to move that
Longing to know.

I do know now that
I am sorry how things turned out is
Not
The
Same
Thing
As
I am sorry that
I
Hurt
You.

I
Know that
I think of you
is not the same things as
I
Miss
You.