I Still break in the quiet hours.

Not cry—break.
Splinter.

Collapse into the silence
where she used to be.

The grief is feral.
It claws through me,
deeper than anything
I’ve ever survived.

If this is survival.
There’s no light here.
Just the weight of her absence—
dense as wet earth,
sharp as shattered bone.

She was my tether.
My breath.
My reason to stay.

Now every inhale feels stolen,
every heartbeat
a betrayal I didn’t consent to.

Don’t offer me comfort.
I don’t want soft words
or stitched-up platitudes.

I want her.
Her paws on the floor.
Her eyes—
the way they saw me
and didn’t flinch.

But she’s gone.
And the world
is colder than I knew it could be.
Colder than death.
Colder than forgetting.

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