Nuance in the Shadow
It’s not always the big things that break us—
it’s the shimmer we miss
on the ordinary day.
When grief doesn’t arrive with a wail,
but as a subtle ache,
a missed beat,
a song that plays when no one’s listening.
I remember being happy once—
but I don’t trust the memory.
Too many mirrors,
too much static.
I learned to smile in sepia.
And when the world said, “Move on,”
I walked backwards.
Into the arms of ghosts
who knew my name before I lost it.
I wanted to be a woman who dances,
but I became a woman who waits.
I became a lighthouse with no boats to guide—
only fog.
We don’t always cry because we’re sad.
Sometimes we cry
because we can feel again.
We make altars out of wine glasses,
rituals from selfies and shopping carts.
But when we whisper to the stars,
we mean it.
I mistook money for meaning,
and silence for peace.
But the wind has a memory,
and my skin still listens.
I came here to remember.
To fall apart on purpose.
To dig up the bones of who I was—
and build something truer from the ruins.
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