God, it's so hard to write these days.

My hands quiver from the cold silence in the house,
My thoughts tremble like a leaf just barely attached
to a tree,
the wind silently waiting to sweep it away,
no mercy. Just like them.

They think I'm still here,
but they've lost me a long time ago.

I am just like them,
ghosts attached to a physical being,
haunted by everything.

But they cannot revive themselves.
I can.

I have not locked away all my pieces like them,
I am tender and I will not be numb.

Breathing.