What Stays

On loss that doesn’t announce itself. It just doesn’t leave.

I gave my whole self.

I know how that sounds.

But I do not know how else to say what happens when you give someone trust, your heart, love, friendship, time, and that weakness you cannot quite describe yourself.

Not one thing.

But door after door.

And afterwards, you no longer know what stayed with you, and what crossed over into them and went on living without asking.

The strangest thing is that outside there is not enough proof.

The day goes on.

People ask ordinary things. I answer.

I buy bread. Open a message. Put a sentence together.

And somewhere in me, something still stands that will not agree to be past.

It asks for nothing.

It does not speak.

It just does not go.

I thought it would stop all at once one day.

It came back in small things.

In a sentence I almost sent. In a place I did not have to avoid, and avoided anyway. In the way, I sometimes waited without meaning to admit that I was waiting.

It did not come back the same.

That confused me.

It was less.

But enough to know it had not gone.

Maybe some things do not end.

They just learn to take up less room.

This fragment is from Something Stays Inside, a book in twelve parts about silence, love, language, and what remains unsaid.

If it found you, the rest is here:
https://a.co/d/03kJGToX