When You Walked Away

I buried my child

with no hands to hold mine.

The silence beside me

was louder than any wail.

You said love was forever,

but forever was shorter

than a graveside prayer.

You left me alone

when my heart split open,

when the only thing

that could have saved me

was presence.

That’s who you are.

Not the woman in promises,

not the voice in playlists,

not the mask of “moving on.”

No—

you are the one who ran

when grief grew teeth,

when love turned heavy,

when I needed

not perfection,

just you.

And you’ll carry that.

Not me.