Sick Of Losses Poem by Natasa To

I am tired of counting
what never stayed.

Tired of learning
the weight of empty chairs,
silent phones,
names that still arrive
before sleep does.

Every goodbye
claims it will be the last lesson,
yet another season
arrives carrying
a different absence.

I have buried plans
that never had a heartbeat.
I have folded dreams
into drawers
where dust remembers them
better than I do.

People say
loss makes us stronger.

Perhaps.

But strength is a lonely thing
when it is built
from what could not be saved.

I am sick
of becoming an expert
at letting go.

Sick of rebuilding
the same house
with different pieces,
only to hear
another storm
learning my address.

Still—

some stubborn corner of me
keeps opening the curtains,
keeps watering
what looks like empty soil,
keeps believing
that not every hand
is leaving,
not every season
is winter,
not every ending
has come to erase me.

I do not ask
for a life without loss.

Only one
where joy
doesn't always feel
like something
I have to mourn
before it is gone.