The sky has not cried,
but the world beneath it has.
In quiet rooms,
where silence speaks louder than sorrow,
in the folds of a letter no one was meant to read,
in eyes that look straight ahead—
but see everything they’ve lost.
Some days ache more than others,
like wounds that unstitch by pulling its thread.
We learn to move with the pain,
carrying it gently,
as if it were something sacred.
M...
