Five things I learned after you left

I still set the table

for two

and blame the wind

for shutting doors.

I scream

at the stars

for burning so brightly

when you

are not here to see them.

I pray to gods

I never believed in—

offering all

but the memory of your voice.

some days

I wear your hoodie

and let the weight

of you

keep me from floating away.

grief doesn’t end—

it only softens

into the shape

of the love

you left behind.