I came home some months ago and noticed glitter on my hands, my shirt, my legs. The week that followed the glitter left my hands but lingered on my couch, my shower, my bathroom sink. After a while I no longer noticed it, months went by and I had almost entirely forgotten about the mess that glitter made. This morning, as my cat jumped to greet me I saw a small speck of glitter in her fur. I felt for a moment that this glitter would follow me forever, but I was not filled with what I felt the night it happened. Tomorrow I might even forget again. I will likely go several months, maybe even years, without finding glitter in my house—but it lingers even if far between.
Grief








