Divorced

Piercing the heart, yet, no bloodshed, killing just the same, words. Eyes fixed, frozen like death, discordant silence, reluctant surrender, forlorn, aching expectancy. Imploring, why? Succumbing, melancholy anguish. Deceived. Defeated. Divorced. Divorced, and thus— the walls remain, yet bear no witness, for memory does not ask permission to fade. Time, indifferent to the weight of names, carries neither grievance nor absolution— only motion, only fact. To grieve what was lost is to argue with the tide; to lament the silence is to ignore that absence has always had its own eloquence. What is a vow, when the universe keeps none? What is an ending, if not a beginning disguised? The door does not close; it recalibrates. The past does not haunt; it hums, low and distant, like a train departing— never looking back. Divorced, yes— But reclaimed.