Closed Doors

You didn’t leave cleanly.
You left pieces of yourself
embedded in my days,
and now everything hurts to touch.

Nothing ended.
I just stopped breathing
and kept existing anyway.
I live inside unfinished sentences,
inside plans that still reach for you
and come back empty.

Time doesn’t help.
Time abandons.
It keeps dragging me forward
while my chest stays behind,
kneeling in the exact moment
I realized you weren’t coming back.

Some days the grief is sharp.
Some days it’s numb and endless.
Some days I hate the clock
for proving the world can move on
without you in it.
Some days I hate myself
for not knowing how.

I don’t miss you gently.
I miss you like a wound
that never closes,
like a scream swallowed too many times,
like something essential
was removed without my consent.

This ache is unbearable.
It interrupts my breathing.
It blurs my sense of direction.
I am lost inside it,
wandering a life that no longer feels like mine.

I don’t know when this ends.
I don’t even know who I am
outside of missing you.

I just know
I am still here,
hurting,
and I don’t know how to carry it alone.

Emotional masculine country showing the ache of loss.