Grief Is Love With Nowhere To Go Grief isn't poetic. It's physical. It's reaching for someone who isn't there. It's remembering the way they laughed and feeling the silence that follows. It's love that still exists but has lost its direction. No call to make. No arms to wrap around. No future to step into. That's why it hurts the way it does. Not because you're weak, but because what you felt was real. Grief is love that no longer has a place to land, so it settles inside you instead. It sits in your chest. It visits at night. It shows up in ordinary moments and changes their weight. But here's the part people don't say enough: the fact that you can feel grief this deeply means your capacity to love is still intact. Nothing about this has closed your heart. It has stretched it. And stretched hearts don't shrink back. They grow wiser. They grow stronger. And one day, that same love will find somewhere new to live.