The Day I Stopped Expecting Answers

I used to ask why.
All the time.
Every night.
In whispers
and in thought.

Why did they leave?
Why didn’t they see me?
Why didn’t I speak up
when it mattered most?

The questions
stacked like bricks
in my chest.

Heavy.
Sharp.
Unanswered.

I waited for signs.
For moments.
For healing
that never knocked.

I tried to explain it
to myself,
to friends,
to blank pages.

But no reply
ever felt enough.
No reason
ever softened the ache.

Until one day,
I stopped.

Not because
I understood.
But because
I got tired.

Of chasing closure
in places
that only echoed.

Now I carry
the silence.

Not as a burden
but as proof
that not everything
needs to be solved
to be survived.

And that,
somehow,
became
my peace.