The Day Is Over
It hurts— deep, raw, like a forgotten song that once meant everything. Your touch—gone. Your eyes— no longer carrying the color of safety. There was never any exhaustion in you, only quiet strength. But now— even that is memory. I still believe beauty is greater than rage. But your scent— the warmth of your hair— is no longer in the air. This life pulses with pain. Peace? That, too, left with you. All signs of you washed out, like chalk on a slate someone was desperate to clean. Your absence is loud. Your tenderness— replaced by something brittle, unforgiving. How did you manage to take all the joy with you— not just now, but for all the time ahead? I sit in this chaos, not searching for belief, but for need— my own need, my own broken sense of what it means to be well. Yes, I wanted this too. Yes, I made the choice. But what’s gone, is gone. I went against myself just to tell you the truth: I loved you. Honestly. Unr...