She packed the bags

Track 10: When She Packed the Bags

I heard the zipper before I heard her speak,

That slow drag across the teeth like it was grinding on my grief.

She didn’t slam a door, didn’t scream, didn’t curse,

Just moved like someone who’d already rehearsed.

Clothes folded like she cared, face cold like she didn’t,

Every step said “I’m done,” even though her mouth didn’t.

I stood there frozen, knuckles white on the frame,

Trying to swallow the truth that I’m the one to blame.

She brushed past me soft, like a ghost through a wall,

And I swear the whole house shrank two sizes small.

The kids were asleep, thank God they didn’t see

The night their mother packed up and walked out on me.

When she packed the bags, it wasn’t luggage she carried,

It was every broken promise that I buried.

Every “I’ll do better,” every “give me one more chance,”

Every lie I told myself just to keep the romance.

When she packed the bags, she packed the truth too,

And left me standing in a room I never grew into.

She didn’t take the ring, didn’t take the blame,

Just took the version of me I never became.

I tried to speak, but the words hit the floor,

Like they knew they weren’t enough to keep her anymore.

She said, “I loved