Loss is an aching word

Down the throat of silence

Waiting for an entry

In white room of acceptance.

Years of waiting to call it a mistake,

To call it “missing a bus” but not a loss. Not a point of no return.

We get better in time, like a thorn of a rose, less painful each time.

One day, loss stops hurting. Story ends. 

No more attachment to color of sky and steel of our home.

Just a long deep breath

Let loss be simple, sharp and present.

When it is over, like a dead brave sparrow.

We master the art of living, we stay with present.

We let part of us die with loss. We keep it simple, sharp and in the past.

Never here, never now.

Loss is a gift, to live detach, free and if we are lucky never own a thing, a person or a story.

In that case, loss can never touch us,

Our belonging rests in life without an illusion,

It is no more sad, or lonely.

It stop having a meaning, it become another experience.

I want that life, 

The one that transforms even pain into a hunted beauty of nature.

I can accept that illusion, the one that breaks my heart and makes it more beautiful.

~ Serena Devi