Iceberg

My grief is like an iceberg. Sometimes a few tears show at the top, but the bigger part is buried deep inside me. Tears pile up in my stomach, forming a ball of grief that is expanding with the hour.

Kenji's skintone is yellowish grey, his skin fragile as parchment with all his veins showing. Hematomas cover his arms. The first lost hairs flutter on his pillow.
He is a shadow of himself - the more chemo he gets administered, the less I see of the Kenji I know.

Looking at him makes me cry. I need to cry. Roar and howl as loud as my lungs will let me. Shed all my tears in one flow of grief. But my tears are stuck.
The only place where I feel secured is inside Kenji's arms. My head buried against his chest, my vulnerability covered by his body warmth. Thát is where I cry.