The sun set on a silent Sunday. The orange in the sky stayed a little longer today while I cried a river in his arms. The cry of a mourning person. The loud exhale and bottomless sea of tears. Puffy eyes. Snotty nose. Warmth and heat. He embraced me in his arms so tightly, clutching at my hand and I could have sworn he was crying too. We laid there within each other, both grieving in loud silence and knowing that this was an embrace that neither of us wanted to end. It told o

Grief doesn't have a timer. It is processed in both minutes and months; transcending through the crevices of time and life itself. There...

It has been almost been four years since I last published one of my writings on this platform and in that time, I had the trivial...

This early morning, I sat beside my auntie in palliative care and watched as her short life came to a swift end. She was only thirty-five...