Grief

Every fire leaves ash.

You cannot tend a flame without this being true. Something burns and is consumed. The log becomes heat and light and then, inevitably, a quiet grey residue. We do not talk much about the ash. We talk about the fire—about building it, sustaining it, letting it burn well. The ash gets overlooked. It gets cleared away.

But grief is the experience of that consumption. It is sitting beside what remains after something you loved was the fire. It is the cost of having been warm.

"What loss have you been moving past without fully acknowledging what you left behind — and what would it mean to turn back and face it honestly?"

First three words are free. No card required.