Stay Anyway [Mad Guitarist Challenge]

I’ve been sitting with them, The ones I tried to bury. They’re quiet now, quieter than I remember— Their breath smells like ash, Their fingers leave smudges on the glass. I poured another round. The silence isn’t soft. It’s the weight of the table between us, The ring left on wood When the glass hits it too hard. Their laughter slips through my ribs, Low, throaty, wrong. They hold my name in their mouths Like something bitter. Their shadows lean in close, And I lean closer— It’s been so long since anyone stayed. The glass sweats in my hand, Cold against my palm. The air is thick—it’s not grief, But something close to it. And when they speak, I can’t meet their eyes. There’s nothing left to say, But we stay anyway. Their voices scrape like gravel, Low and slow, Filling the cracks in the floor. The silence moves between us, Thick and heavy, Like the smell of burnt wood. They don’t say my name anymore. They don’t have to. I still hear it in the way they exhale. I’ve swallowed their shadows, Kept them in my gut for years. They taste like iron— Sharp, wrong, and familiar. When they pull my hair back, I don’t fight it. They whisper something I’ll never understand. The glass sweats in my hand, Cold against my palm. The air is thick—it’s not grief, But something close to it. And when they speak, I can’t meet their eyes. There’s nothing left to say, But we stay anyway. Pour another glass. Stay.