Persephone

sometimes

I feel like Persephone—

made for the sunlight,

but haunted by the shadows

of those I’ve lost.

I laugh with the living,

warm my skin in the sun,

dance in markets

with flowers in my hair

and salt on my lips—

but part of me

always lives

in a softer,

quieter world

where time

stands still.

I want

to split my soul in two—

half for this world,

half for the ones

I’ll never touch again.

but maybe

that’s the cost

of love:

you never come back

from it fully.

and maybe

that’s the gift—

that grief

makes the sunlight

so much sweeter.