What remains

Grief sticks. It wakes me up at night. It defies me. No amount of alcohol helps. No sweetness dulls its bite. It is just there. Hanging out. Reminding me. Like the death that brought it on. It has finality written all over it. Telling me this is it. No matter how much I believed in another life beyond this one. Even more than one life. No, dear. This feels final. One dimensional. Over. I am at odds with my own mind. It will not bend to my desires. Let me see my own intentions.This doesn't mean that something good won't come of it. No, not at all. I predict operas. Paintings. Maybe, even a movie. A slant that leans towards creation. So many were left with unanswered questions waiting. Conversations never had.Exchanges and muffled laughter remembered. Grief now owns the entire lot. Like a greedy landowner. Sweeping everything in. Owning it all. The scream at 3 am. The dreams. The fading scents in the closet. Turning inward. Turning outwards. Twisting. Twisting. Diving like a corkscrew into my depths.