I want to make sense
of the life we had,
of the fight we fought,
of the battles we braved,
where grief stood like a wall
too high to climb.

I want to make sense
of what we went through—
the endless nights that stretched,
the days eating felt like a chore,
something we forced upon ourselves  
to survive.
And our laughter vanished
into the cracks of silence.

Were we too fragile for the storms?
Is that why we chose to let it go,
leaving behind the pieces of her?
Do they not matter to us?
Or are they too heavy for us to carry?

I want to make sense of all of it.
Because if I can’t,
then all the miseries go to waste.
Why did we take such roads
that led us to destinations
we never planned to reach?

Why did we fight so hard?
Did we hold on too tightly,
only to end up making ourselves bleed?
Was it grief?
Were we trying to find echoes of her voice,
trying to keep her alive
in the ways we thought were right?
Were we trying to build a house
out of her memories?

I want to make sense of all of it.
My head hurts, my heart aches,
because now it feels like a big waste.
We went all the way
only to end up leaving it all behind.

Why didn’t we accept it sooner—
that home wasn’t a place?
It was her.
And when she left,
home dissolved like a dream
in the harsh truth of reality.

Were we too slow to accept
that the waves had already swept her away,
taking pieces of us with it.

I want to make sense of all of it—
the goodbyes,
the lost connections,
the betrayals,
the broken promises,
the pieces of our hearts
we lost behind
in search of meaning.

Will I feel at peace
if I can just make sense of all of this?
If I untangle the knots of grief,
will the ache in my chest finally lighten?

Will I sleep again,
or will I carry her absence,
a weight that feels lighter
but never disappears?