Filling the Silence, Fighting the Shadows

There’s a certain weight to the pain I carry, one that lives not in fleeting moments but in the marrow of my being. It’s heavier than the ache of missing someone—it’s the ache of simply being. I watch as the world moves on, as people breathe through their sorrows and nights dissolve into mornings with or without me. They will feel sadness, perhaps, but their lives will weave around the empty space I’d leave behind. They’ll gather, share stories about my quirks and laughter, and slowly, quietly, I would become memory—a ghost tucked away in their lives.

Yet this pain that grips me is unyielding. It’s not something that can be filled, fixed, or replaced. It’s here, relentless, echoing in the silence of every night I spend alone. But I don’t write this to say goodbye. I stay for the light in my children’s eyes, for the chance to prove wrong those who ever doubted my resilience. Still, my mind drifts into those shadowed corners where the what-ifs and maybes linger.