If I tell them
I do not care anymore—
they will not hear the breaking
of my heart.

Some shoulders
will sink into the ground,
dragging the sky closer,
until I am buried
out of sight.

Some blank eyes
will look right through me,
as if I have vanished
into thin air.

It is not small—
this knowing
of how words
find their way,
slipping
into the spaces between us
where the air thickens,
where hope might
be hidden.

And sometimes,
it's all you need—
to feel the warmth in the air
or the lonely wave
that comes
when nothing is left.