And the death of the star that was my love for you became the endless black hole that engulfed all my happiness.

I wasn’t brave.
Don’t let them say that.
I was just tired
in a way no one could see.
Tired like my bones were made of grief.
Tired like I’d been screaming underwater for years.

It wasn’t about dying.
It was about ending.
Ending the weight,
the buzzing silence,
the way I could still be in a room
and still not exist.

I went to the roof.
You know the one.
Above the library.
It was cloudy
the kind of sky that doesn’t look down on you,
just swallows you whole.

I didn’t cry.
There were no shaking hands,
no last minute second guesses.
Just this strange calm
that felt like finally breathing
after holding it for too long.

I stepped.
And for a second
I swear
I felt free.
Then everything went black.

she plants wounds where comfort should grow
then calls it motherhood
while watching me slowly erode