On grief

Do you carry your grief around the same as me?

Subsided,
Folded/beneath; layers.

Has yours ever spilled?
I imagine mine would be; Images stuck on a wall // A song on loop // White collars with faint stains.
I imagine it would stain all even if for just a blink.

Your laughter,
Your smile,
Have they crooked?

Your pace,
Does it skip?
Your tongue,
Does it stutter?

I imagine the outcome to be worthy.
Memories in clarity,
Nostalgia in greys,
Drinks in blues,
Skies that carry spectrums,
Winds that carry contentment.

Your lisp was birthed off of dead phrases,
The tongues that birthed them no longer spill your name.
Your stutter grew deeper every time you heard theirs.
Your vision distorted to shorter lengths,
Your steps no longer leave the same impression as they did once.
Yet you take them,
One at a time.