Before
Grief arrived quietly.

Not with diagnosis,
that came later,
clinical and manageable,
outlined in pamphlets
beside treatment plans.

The grief began
the first time she noticed someone looking
for one second too long.

After that
mirrors became negotiations.

She learned which side of her face
looked calmer in photographs,
which lighting softened inflammation,
which excuses avoided invitations
without sounding rehearsed.

People spoke carefully around visible illness,
as though kindness could soften what they saw.

You’re still beautiful.
It’s barely noticeable.

But grief does not depend
on severity.

Sometimes it forms
around small disappearances:

wearing hair differently,
sitting further from windows,
hesitating before eye contact,
becoming aware of skin
before becoming aware of self.

She mourned most
the version of herself
who entered rooms
without first calculating visibility.

The body remained recognizable.
The life remained functional.

Yet something ordinary had vanished:

the freedom
of being seen
without first thinking
about appearance.

----

performed by Val Cole