The acceptance of finality: On the experience of My loss

Grains of sand surround me. The loss of belief also means the loss of a part of oneself that once held onto such hopes and care.

It withers from your grasp, disintegrating into grains of sand. No matter how quantifiably great it once was, those specks — remnants of what it meant to possess it — are beyond what the hand can gather whole again. It still exists, yet no longer in a form that can be held. To mould it back together would be impossible.

Helplessness gives way to yearning, but what is there to yearn for when it no longer holds onto you? It becomes a product of abstraction, something that leads one astray. I reject that notion because I refuse to stand in the indecision that comes from believing something can still be

 remade from scattered grains.

Yearning distances you from grief — the very thing that follows loss, the reality of demise, the inevitability of it.

I do not yearn for what is gone; I grieve it. Let that be the death of my ego if it means remaking myself anew, transforming into someone beyond the recognition of who I once was.

I might catch a fleeting glimpse of the grain from the corner of my eye, yet whenever I turn toward where it once was, it is always gone — nowhere to be seen. I cannot place my finger upon something that no longer exists within reach.

I am a child who has grown. The dream of that sandy paradise is gone now; the weight of what it once meant to hold it can no longer be felt within my grasp. I am no longer in a sandbox; I now stand within dunes stretched endlessly by vastness.

Whenever I feel the warmth of light, far from that lost paradise, I still reach outward with my hands — but never with my heart.

Yearning is the resistance to finality; grief is acceptance of it. The dunes have taught me to never offer my heart freely, for not every wandering hand deserves what lies beneath the sand — those who could not hold the heart with carefulness were never worthy of the love that dwelled within it. 

What is gone is not something I choose to celebrate, even after mourning it. Even so, that choice should never hinder me from wandering forward.