Sorry Business Static

There’s a kind of blur that comes with loss. Not the gentle kind, not the soft fading of a sunset—this is the static, the distortion, the way grief bends the light so you can’t tell where the edges are anymore. Love, loss, life—they all start bleeding into each other, and you’re left wading through it, trying to make sense of what still holds.

Water knows this feeling. The way it rises in times of loss, how it distorts what’s underneath. The way it carries voices, memories, echoes of hands you used to hold. It doesn’t let you pretend. It pulls you in, demands that you feel every bit of it—no shortcuts, no sidesteps, no clean breaks.

But there’s movement in the blur. The lines don’t vanish, they just shift. You have to learn to see through them differently, to trust the feeling more than the form. To hold the weight of grief and love at the same time, without letting either drown you.

Bravery isn’t about not feeling it. It’s about staying in it long enough to find your way through. Because the water doesn’t just take—it also carries. And if you let it, if you stop fighting the current, it’ll show you the way forward. Not out, not away, but through