The absence is loud, so I stay silent
I could have spoken about how heavy my heart has been. About how the emotions that shape my life and existence became unintentionally tied to a couch I soaked with tears the day I found out. How grief announced itself not with chaos, but with permanence I could have spoken about the way silence pushed me toward vices I didn’t yet have names for. Habits veiled beneath a sweet-boy appearance, coping mechanisms that learned to hide before I did. I could have shouted for help as my neck faded from view, swallowed whole by dark waters of grief. When voices called out, asking if anyone was still alive, I could have raised my hand. I could have murmured softly, just enough to rescue myself from the pile of dead bodies that looked suspiciously like me I didn’t I could have breathed words of despair into the hollow space left behind by failed attempts to resuscitate my spirit. When the loudness of absence deafened my ears, I could have crafted music from the notes of love I never quite learned ...