#wordsofdepth
They left me hanging
like an apostrophe
not quite belonging
to the sentence anymore,
yet still attached
to what abandoned me.
I remained there quietly,
a small curved ache
between what was said
and what was meant.
Because absence
is rarely clean.
It leaves fingerprints
on ordinary things:
half-finished conversations,
chairs facing empty rooms,
songs that continue playing
after the feeling has ended.
And perhaps that is the cruelty
of being left behind
not the leaving itself,
but the slow realization
that life continues grammatically
without you.
People still laugh.
Morning still arrives.
The world keeps arranging itself
into complete sentences
while you linger
like misplaced punctuation,
waiting to matter again.
I used to think closure
would sound dramatic
doors slamming,
voices breaking,
final words worthy of remembrance.
Instead,
it sounded like silence
becoming comfortable.
Like messages unanswered
long enough
to become history.
They left me hanging
like an apostrophe,
suspended between attachment
and disappearance.
Too present to forget,
too forgotten to keep.
And maybe that is what grief truly is:
a language continuing forward
while one part of it
remains stranded
between letters
that no longer reach for each other.
24/05/26
Ghana 🇬🇭
May 24
May 24, 2026 at 8:03 AM UTC
The city sleeps carelessly
behind locked doors
because one man
has agreed to carry the dark.
He walks beneath failing lights,
a flashlight in his hand
small enough to understand
that some dangers cannot be outrun,
only endured.
At midnight,
even silence develops a heartbeat.
Every shadow becomes an unanswered question.
Every sudden noise
teaches his chest
the difference between caution
and fear.
Yet he continues
a man whose weariness
has learned to stand upright,
guarding structures
that will never bear his name,
protecting lives
that will never know his face.
By morning,
the city will button its shirt,
pour its coffee,
and walk past him
without a second thought
never pausing to consider
that exhaustion, too can wear a uniform
and still show up.
And still,
he will return the next night.
And the night after.
Standing faithfully
in the space between strangers
and whatever waits in the dark.
The city sleeps peacefully
because he does not.
But when fear finally finds him
when the shadows stop being metaphors
and the silence stops being still
who watches
the security guard
at night?
24/05/26
Ghana 🇬🇭
May 23
May 23, 2026 at 11:42 PM UTC