Worn Out Faces

Something inside me died.
(Not all at once. Just… pieces.)

Please don’t go.
I want you to stay.
But I never said it out loud, did I?
Only in the silence
after the door shut.

You were there
and I forget the rest.
It’s all fog —
faces with no names,
rooms with no time.

You can’t rewrite the past.
But damn,
don’t think I didn’t try.

You were always so lost in the dark.
I saw it.
I just…
thought I could be light.
Thought maybe standing next to me
would be enough.

Open your eyes.

No, not like that.
Not the hospital kind.
Not the pale ceiling kind.
I mean, open them and see me.

Worn out faces
in the mirror,
in the photo,
in the memory I wish would let go of me.

I still talk to you.
You don’t talk back.
I still wait up.
You don’t come home.

Maybe something inside you died too.
Long before you left.
Long before I noticed.
Maybe I noticed —
and turned away.

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