I didn’t see the blast--
just felt it after,
in the hush of your retreat.
No scars to stitch,
just words
lodged in soft tissue.
They ache when it rains.
You said, "It's not like I hit you,”
but silence detonates too.
It tears in quiet,
spreads slow as bruising thoughts.
Now I walk crooked,
smile with hesitation,
and check every room
for the pieces I’ve left behind....
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