Grief stalks and prowls.

It crouches just on the edge

of my vision

Not quite seen, but its presence felt

It waits patiently.

It keeps its own schedule,

unconcerned with mine.

It attacks, quick but gentle,

Crashing over me like a wave,

rather than a pounce.

I gasp for air as it slowly,

slowly pulls me in

I succumb, my will already weakened

by its prowling.

My mind is transported back,

into the past, again.

The weight of it is so heavy,

draining me, leaving me limp.

Its grip loosens as the memories fade.

It's had its moment, and slides back

to the edge, to wait.

I pick up my burdened body

and carry on.