Numb and Alone
I woke up one morning
and my chest was quiet.
No storm, no ache —
just a room with the lights off.
I used to feel everything:
the sharp edge of joy,
the weight of a name,
the way goodbye could bruise for weeks.
Now mornings taste like nothing.
I pour coffee for one.
The door locks behind me
and doesn’t ask where I’m going.
Living by myself
is learning the sound of my own breathing.
Some nights it’s peace.
Some nights it’s a question with no answer.
I’m not waiting to feel again.
I’m learning how to be a house
that isn’t empty — just quiet.
And maybe quiet is healing too.
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