Read more poetry by Britt Wolfe
They say when you're lost in the wilderness,
the worst thing you can do is wander.
You only lose yourself further,
mistake shadows for familiar paths,
and follow the setting sun
into places no one knows to look.
So find somewhere safe.
Sit down.
And yell.
I've been lost for a while now.
I don't remember leaving the trail,
only that the trees grew unfamiliar,
the light began to change,
and suddenly, the way I'd come
was no longer there.
I've tried following the sun.
I've tried retracing my steps.
I've climbed the highest hills
to search for something recognisable,
but every direction leads
to somewhere you've never been.
And the strangest thing
about being lost
is how the world carries on.
The birds still sing.
The rivers still run.
The wind moves through the branches
without the slightest concern
that someone is missing.
People tell me to keep moving.
That I'll find my way eventually.
That there are beautiful things
beyond these woods.
But I don't want another path.
I want the one that led to you.
So I think I'll take the advice.
I'll sit among the fallen leaves,
where the earth is cold
and the trees are indifferent,
and yell until my throat is raw.
I'll yell for the years I thought we had.
For the words I cannot take back.
For the ordinary things
I never knew to memorise.
I'll call your name
until it sounds less like a name
and more like the sound
of something breaking.
And perhaps someone will hear me.
Perhaps they'll follow my voice
through the trees
and offer me a hand.
But I know it won't be yours.
And that is the terrible thing
about this particular wilderness.
I'm not lost
because I don't know where I am.
I'm lost
because I know exactly
who isn't coming to find me.
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Poetry by Britt Wolfe:
What happens when the world keeps moving, but grief leaves you stranded in the moment everything changed? Staring at the Ceiling is a hauntingly intimate exploration of the quiet paralysis that follows profound loss, when days dissolve into weeks, seasons change without consequence, and life becomes something that happens around us rather than something we participate in. It captures the unbearable monotony of waking each morning to the same devastating absence, the loneliness of watching a world that has already moved on, and the terrible realization that time does not wait for broken hearts to heal. For anyone who has ever lost entire days to sorrow, only to discover that the hardest part of grief isn't watching time pass, but knowing that every passing moment carries us further from the last time someone we loved was still here.