The world didn’t end like I thought it would,
just got quieter—
like the space after a slammed door,
like a name no one says anymore.

I buried you in the parts of me
that don’t see the sun,
but grief still blooms there,
soft and unwelcome.

I thought I'd be ready.
I thought leaving would feel like freedom.
But all I have now is the echo—
and nowhere to run.