Beneath the Quiet

The morning broke too quietly, like the sun was scared to rise. I watched the color drain from time as stillness filled your eyes. The world felt like it paused its pulse, a sudden skip, a sharp collapse as if the sky itself had tightened in a silent heart attack. The machines hummed like distant storms that knew they’d never rain. Your breathing fought in brittle waves, then softened into pain. I reached for you with trembling hands, but the hours moved too fast I swear I saw the future shatter the moment you exhaled your last. And the room went cold, like it swallowed the air, and the walls bent inward as if they couldn’t bear the weight of a world that had lost its flame I closed my eyes and whispered your name. It’s the moment standing still, where the air grows thin and quiet, the place where everything I lost still finds a way inside. the moment standing still, where the world forgets its sound, I carry what you left with me in every step I’ve found. The hours folded into themselves, like pages pressed too long. I traced the curve of your final breath, a line I could not redraw. Even as the daylight shifted, I felt your absence linger, pulling every motion into a new orbit that wasn't familiar. Your absence hit like lightning with no storm left to explain a single strike that split my life into “before” and “after” pain. I carry all your fragments, every whisper, every scar you vanished like a final breath, but you stayed inside my heart. I still feel you in the spaces where the air gets thin. It’s the moment standing still, where the air grows thin and quiet, the place where everything I lost still finds a way inside. the moment standing still, where the world forgets its sound, I carry what you left with me in every step I’ve found.