Today I held in my tears while laughing with my clients;

I find grief to be funny; 

it creeps me out in the most random of time. 

right after I just finished laughing with my clients; 

in the quiet minutes after I took my late prayer; 

or in the rage I felt after getting too many revisions.

but then I think it's funny how I call it grief; 

when I'm not even sure what dies
and what lives. 

should it even be called that, then?

or maybe 

this aching feeling is not grief; 

just our fiery amber, fading

as if it was swept in by the wind.

as if it wasn't even allowed to burn in the first place.