I wish I could hand you the weight you left in my chest, let you carry it through sleepless hours and unanswered days, let it bend your spine the way it bent my hope.

I wish you felt how words can bruise without touching skin, how love can rot into something sharp that lives behind the ribs.

I move through life like an apology that never gets accepted, smiling on cue while grief taps its fingers against my throat.

Nights stretch longer than they should, and I wonder if you ever noticed the emptiness you planted and the silence it grew into.