In the quiet hours before dawn,
a weight settles, uninvited, unnamed.
Days drift in slow-motion gray,
each breath heavy, each step rehearsed.
I learned to dance with shadows,
To find rhythm in the void.
Smiles painted on a weary canvas, Laughter echoing in empty halls.
Then you arrived—
a burst of color in my grayscale world,
a melody I never searched for
but somehow needed.
A spark in my endless night.
And now, you're gone.
The weight I once carried so easily
has doubled, pressed into my ribs.
Have the shadows always been this dark?
Has the silence always been this deafening?
I thought I knew sorrow,
thought I had mapped its edges,
But this grief is sharper, louder.
A pain with a familiar name.
So I sit with this ache—
learning to breathe,
learning to carry this weight,
learning to cope
without you.
