He stopped asking.
Not out loud—
just slowly,
the way a door
forgets how to open.
He learned the timing of laughter,
placed it carefully
between other people’s sentences,
so no one would notice
the silence he carried.
When it hurt,
he made himself the joke.
Easier that way—
to be the punchline
than the question.
Dreams loosened their hold.
Not broken—
just set down,
one by one,
until his hands were empty.
Justice became a distant thing,
like weather in another city.
Anger passed through him
without staying.
Even sadness
learned not to knock.
What remained
was not peace—
just a quiet
that asked nothing
and expected less.
He still laughs.
That part stayed.
But if you listen closely,
there is a space in him
growing lighter each day—
not healing,
not breaking—
just
slowly
leaving.
Mar 17
Mar 17, 2026 at 3:12 PM UTC
He stopped asking.
Not out loud—
just slowly,
the way a door
forgets how to open.
He learned the timing of laughter,
placed it carefully
between other people’s sentences,
so no one would notice
the silence he carried.
When it hurt,
he made himself the joke.
Easier that way—
to be the punchline
than the question.
Dreams loosened their hold.
Not broken—
just set down,
one by one,
until his hands were empty.
Justice became a distant thing,
like weather in another city.
Anger passed through him
without staying.
Even sadness
learned not to knock.
What remained
was not peace—
just a quiet
that asked nothing
and expected less.
He still laughs.
That part stayed.
But if you listen closely,
there is a space in him
growing lighter each day—
not healing,
not breaking—
just
slowly
leaving.
A quiet kind of leaving
So yeah...🤣
