nothing in life prepares you for grief. as a child you don’t understand the concept of death, you think your grandparents will live forever. 

your five begging them for candy and watching them laugh as they hand over some sweets, and suddenly your 17 in a hospital completely empty on the inside because a piece of you has left the earth. 

saying your goodbyes hurts. holding onto them hoping that maybe that would fix everything, maybe they would stay. 

it rains hard during the funeral, it masks everyone’s tears. your heels dig into the mud as you walk to the casket. a pit in your stomach forming and never ending. the thunder cracks in the distance. 

nobody teaches you about grief. nobody tells you time is unforgiving and that every moment is special. nobody warns you that it might be the last time your grandparent gives you a kiss on the forehead, or tells you they love you. 

you wish you could take all those years back, the years where you were immature and selfish, the ones where you chose to be out with friends instead of with them. and now you can’t get that back, they’re gone forever. they won’t see the inside of your future home, or meet your future husband and children. they won’t be around for any of it. and all you have left is stories