The Night My Soul Forgot How to Sleep

The clock glows 2:03.

The world is quiet—

but my thoughts are screaming.

I lie in the dark,

as still as regret,

wondering if you’re awake too,

or if you've already forgotten me.

The ceiling knows my secrets.

It’s heard my whispers

to a ghost I can’t stop loving.

The fan spins slow,

like time trying to move

but stumbling over every memory of you.

I tried counting sheep.

I tried warm tea.

I even tried praying—

but my prayers came out sounding like your name.

I miss you

in the space between seconds.

In the silence

right after a sad song ends.

My soul—

once a symphony,

now just echoes

bouncing around inside a ribcage too hollow to hold hope.

I thought I needed sleep.

But what I needed

was to forget the way you said goodbye

without actually saying it.

Now I write in the dark.

Because the dark doesn’t judge.

It just listens.

Like you used to.

Before you stopped.

By [Kevin]