Every So Often, The Fog

September 29, 2025

Every so often, the fog finds me again.

Not the suffocating kind that once swallowed me whole,

but something quieter—

wisps of gray curling along a haunted path.

I can’t tell if it’s hormones, perimenopause,

or simply my body whispering,

“Katherine, you still need to rest.”

Maybe it’s all of it at once.

It’s less like drowning,

more like a steady pull I can’t quite shake.

It tugs at me, opens old boxes

I thought I’d welded shut.

Memories escape.

Our life.

Our rituals.

The time we shared.

They come back not as ghosts,

but as living pictures—

reminders of love, of closeness,

of the shared life I thought was real.

And it hurts.

Even now.

Even after everything.

The sadness is real.

But I keep walking.

Through the fog.

Trusting that the air will clear,

knowing that I loved deeply.