Sorrow is what love feels like when it has lost its place to land.

Sorrow is strange. It arrives heavy and stays longer than anyone expects — longer than people around you are comfortable with.

I've come to think of it this way: sorrow is love that has lost its place to land. The chair is still there. The blanket is still folded. The tea goes cold because the habit of making two hasn't caught up with the truth.

There's no schedule for this. You don't need to "move on" by a certain date. You only need to keep breathing, keep eating a little, keep letting people sit with you.

The love doesn't leave. Slowly, it learns new places to land.