The Grieving Man
Symbol: The Hollow Flame
A flame with space inside it—open, echoing, still intact.
A shape that says: “I am not less. I just carry more silence now.”
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You’re still holding it.
The loss. The confusion. The ache that never quite found words.
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Maybe no one saw it.
Maybe you didn’t even name it—because you were never taught how.
Because being a man meant swallowing pain until it looked like strength.
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But you grieved anyway.
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You grieved in the car.
You grieved in your jaw.
You grieved by shutting down.
By getting quiet.
By pretending it didn’t still echo when your chest went still at night.
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No one told you that men cry like earthquakes.
That grief in a man’s body feels like heat that has nowhere to go.
That the fire doesn’t make you broken—
it makes you honest.
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You don’t have to carry it alone.
You don’t have to “move on.”
You don’t have to perform okayness just to be loved.
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You are allowed to miss what you lost.
You are allowed to speak what still aches.
You are allowed to be held—without fixing, without shrinking, without shame.
Grief didn’t ruin you.
It just opened a door no one else could see.​