Silence Made You Leave

I walked away, my head forced high, and big, bloodied chunks torn from my pride. I mourned the loss of that half-built life, denied the role of mother, of wife. And all those years, advancing time, dissolved that little dream of mine. And it's clear: not even fatherhood has changed you like I thought it would. You had your turn; you walked away, but still you're lying, still you stay. So you observe, without reprieve, and I thought silence made you leave.