It walks beside me,
quiet as breath,
cloaked in the spaces between words.

No one sees
the weight folded behind my smile,
the way silence wraps around my ribs
like a second skin.

In crowded rooms
I am whole on the outside,
but inside,
something flickers
like a light left on in an empty house.

Grief does not always scream.
Sometimes
it just stays.
Unmoved.
Unspoken.
Heavy.

I carry it gently,
as one might hold
a glass heart
already cracked.

Not seeking to fix it.
Only
to keep it from falling.