I don’t know what to do.

Standing there, twisting the tip of my taupe sleeve anxiously – waiting, wondering.

Attempting to calm my pulse, racing in my chest like a fox trying to escape

the sight of grieving people lined up to see me

Bustling, blurry faces.

Condolences, to which I nod along.

I’m so sorry, they say.

I am sorry that I cannot feel the way
I am expected to.

I do not feel the tears sting my eyes,
the salty taste in my mouth.

My mind is blank.

A paper with unwritten words, a story untold.

I am hollow, not once wallowing like a

lonely, winding, willow tree.

Billowing in the cool breeze, wispy
and uncertain

of its direction.