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.