A painting born from grief.
The ache that doesn’t ask permission.
The light that still lingers, even after.
This is for the ones we lost. For the ones we’re still holding in our sky.

This isn’t part of a series.
This is just one painting, made on one of those days when grief sat too heavy to name.
So I let it swirl. I let it spill. I let it become stars.

This piece holds a quiet goodbye—one I’ve said a hundred times, in a hundred ways, and still somehow carry.

It’s for the ones we lost and the weight they left behind.

I painted, I wrote, and I shared—because maybe you’ve carried this kind of ache too.

---

💫 Mini Poem

Your Name Is Still in My Orbit: The Gravity of Goodbye

I painted the sky to forget,
but your name kept appearing
in the curve of every comet,
in the hush between star pulses,
in the light that refused to burn out.

Grief isn’t static—it spins.
A quiet rotation
around what once was.

Even the silence
has a center of mass.
Even memory
has its own celestial pull.

And no matter how far I drift—
your name is still in my orbit:
the gravity of goodbye.

---

💭 Reflection Questions for the Reader

• What emotion do you see in this galaxy?
• If you could name a star after someone you’ve lost, who would it be?
• What feeling has stayed in your orbit, even when you thought it had passed?
• Have you ever felt the “gravity of goodbye”? How did it pull you?
• What shape does your grief take—if you close your eyes, what color is it?

---