grief is a numbers game.
one more bed than we need, an extra spot on the couch,
the empty chair at the table.
one less towel.
one less pillow.
one less car in the driveway.
not quite a chorus for laughter, not quite a crowd
for the feast, not quite a home filled with loved ones.
an impossible equation, whose variables change
every day without hope for a constant.
M.J. (@mjweissen) chases sunsets, stops the world to breathe in joy when it’s near, and honors her pain with the space and depth it deserves. She thinks in prose poetry and rants in creative nonfiction. She published a novella she regrets and laments not publishing more of herself.