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119
What words couldn't hold
<p><br/></p><p>I don’t really know how to say this out loud.</p><p>So I wrote it instead.</p><p>April came softly,</p><p>like it always does:</p><p>unannounced, ordinary,</p><p>carrying days that looked like any other.</p><p>But it stayed too long in my chest.</p><p>It took,</p><p>and then it took again.</p><p>The first loss echoed—</p><p>sharp, unfamiliar,</p><p>something I tried to understand</p><p>before it settled.</p><p>But the second…</p><p>the second didn’t echo.</p><p>It sank.</p><p><img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/c326106a53bc39ac31caf1905e4ea163.jpg"/></p><p>It left a silence that doesn’t move,</p><p>a kind that sits beside me</p><p>even when I’m not thinking about it.</p><p>There are too many memories—</p><p>they don’t come one by one,</p><p>they arrive all at once,</p><p>crowding the quiet I’m trying to keep.</p><p><img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/8f725bba9d0ed7a30cea4975fc44d61f.jpg"/></p><p>And when I try to speak,</p><p>nothing comes out the way it should.</p><p>So I write—</p><p>not because I have the right words,</p><p>but because they’re the only ones</p><p>that stay long enough to be felt.</p><p>Some people leave gently.</p><p>Some leave loudly.</p><p>And some…</p><p>leave a space that nothing knows how to fill.</p><p>April didn’t ask.</p><p>It just took.</p><p>And I’m still here,</p><p>writing what I can’t say,</p><p>trying to understand</p><p>what remains.</p><p><br/></p>
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