#wordsleftunsaid
Closure isn’t a neatly tied bow,
not a chapter that ends when we say so.
It lingers in the spaces between,
in echoes of words that were never seen.
It’s learning to live with the quiet refrain,
with questions unanswered, with love left in vain.
Not every thread will find its weave,
not every heart gets time to grieve.
Real closure is walking away unafraid,
knowing some endings will never be made.
It’s making peace with the stories untold,
with messy goodbyes and hands left cold.
So here’s to the silence, the pause, the regret,
to things we move past but never forget.
For maybe the truest closure we find,
is knowing some doors stay open in mind.
Feb 28, 2025
Feb 28, 2025 at 5:20 AM UTC
I read your poem today—
not just the words, but the ache between them.
You cut your hair,
and somehow the strands fell
like silent echoes of everything you’ve lost.
But I saw more than sorrow in your lines.
I saw a girl
standing in front of a mirror,
eyes red but brave,
wearing grief like a crown
that did not crush her.
You cry,
because you feel deeply—
and that, to me,
is the most courageous kind of strength.
To let the world change you,
and still choose to meet it with softness.
You speak of those you’ve lost,
but do you know what you’ve found?
A voice that bleeds honesty,
a spirit that bends but never breaks,
a beauty that isn't in the hair you lost,
but in the fire you quietly carry.
I may only know you
through verses and distant glances,
but I want you to know—
someone is reading,
someone sees the light
tucked gently beneath your grief,
and believes in the woman
you’re still becoming.
And when you looked in that mirror—
I wish you could have seen
what I saw from afar:
not just a girl who cut her hair,
but one who’s slowly growing wings.
May 3, 2025
May 3, 2025 at 7:09 AM UTC