Your laugh is a blade,
sharp and familiar,
carving through the careful walls
I tried to build around us.

I thought we could be gentle,
but love doesn’t fade—it fractures.
And the shards are too sharp to hold.

Your name still tastes like longing.
My voice cracks around it,
unable to shape it into something new.

We sit in the wreckage,
pretending it doesn’t hurt,
until silence swallows what’s left.