Grief knocks on ribs
Every bone — an aching story
that
wants a closure
wants to burst.

I lie here — lifeless, still.
Why?

-

I watched you pass by,
carrying the sun with you,
my world stayed in the shade.
You never looked back to see
how brightly I burned for you.

-

She bought a new diary.
It already had writing in it—her handwriting, but future dates.

-

Everyone told her the man she kept seeing
was just in her head.
So she stopped bringing him up.
Even when he joined them at dinner,
eyes locked only on her.

-

The door clicks shut—
a hollow sound,
like an empty cup
set down too hard.

Wind hums through the keyhole,
a tune I almost recognize.

-

They kneaded love into bread,
stitched comfort into torn seams,
held my face like a fragile thing—
even when the world did not.

-

"I write about the moon."
You say, "Show me the sun."

I delete my profile.
The moon was enough.

-

Walls of silence,
thick as stone—
a breath caught,
a whisper undone.

The key?
Lost in the echo
of my own voice.

-

The screen stays dark—
no buzz, no light.
Only the ghost of your name
hovering between *delivered*
and *seen*.

I press my thumb there anyway,
as if waiting could rewrite
the silence.

-

What if I never left—
just folded into the wallpaper,
a whisper in the hum
of the refrigerator?

The clock eats the hours.
The bed forgets.

-