You’re the reason every song turns into a requiem.
Even the happy ones bend under the weight of your name.
The reason love walks with a blade behind its back,
because you turned it into something I had to survive.
You’re the reason
breathing feels borrowed.
Like I’m stuck in a waiting room
with no doors,
no answers,
just clocks that won’t tick
and memories that don’t know how to leave.
You’re the reason I bleed into pages,
why I stretch sorrow into sentences,
why I carve light
from the ruins.
You taught me grief in its native language,
how to cradle absence like a relic,
how to shape silence into meaning.
You’re the reason I learned to cradle longing
instead of trying to cure it.
To live inside the hollow
and still find warmth.
You’re the reason I know
that love and loss
can belong to the same moment.
You are my reason.
The one that never left.
Who is your reason?