I keep the room the way it was Not for comfort, just for proof Every mark still earns its place Every habit tells the truth No ceremony in the loss No forgiveness carved in stone I count the weight in every step Like it owes me something back There’s a pattern in my hands Still repeating what we had Not devotion, not regret Just a reflex I can’t bend I don’t speak it, don’t deny Let it sit behind my eyes It doesn’t move, it doesn’t fade Just a shape that never breaks You’re the pressure in the space Where I cut you out too late Not alive, but not erased Just the math I couldn’t change I don’t reach, I don’t pursue I carry a ghost of you I don’t pray, I don’t confess I measure damage, nothing else Every silence earns its keep Every breath stays incomplete This isn’t longing, this is shape A form that learned to stay in place You’re the pressure in the space Where I cut you out too late Not alive, but not erased Just the math I couldn’t change I don’t reach, I don’t pursue I carry a ghost of you If I burn it down to bone Will the habit finally break If I name it, if I sever Does it learn to dissipate No redemption in the act Just the ending of the pattern You’re the pressure in the space Where I cut you out too late Not alive, but not erased Just the math I couldn’t change I don’t reach, I don’t pursue I outgrow the ghost of you
