You don't feel anything,
I keep turning that over in my head.
Because I feel everything.

I feel the silence where your laugh used to be.
I feel the weight of words I should've said sooner,
and the heavier weight of the ones I can't take back.

I feel the ache of knowing I hurt you,
of becoming the person I swore I'd never be,
and losing you because of it.

You say there's nothing there
no anger, no love, no warmth, just quiet.
And somehow that quiet hurts more than if you were yelling at me.

I replay moments in my head,
not to change them,
but because I wish I had protected them better.
I wish I had protected you better.

I carry regret through my normal days,
and guilt that shows up late at night.
Not just for losing you,
but for hurting two hearts at once and breaking my own.

What hurts most isn't just that you're gone,
But that love wasn't enough to save me from my own mistake.

Hope tries not to speak too loud,
because it knows it doesn't belong here anymore.

And maybe you feel nothing because feeling everything was too much.
If that's true, I don't blame you.

I'll sit with my feelings quietly
and live with what I did,
So you don't have to carry them too.