The Light Went Underground To Hold You

The clock on the wall moves forward, but you are still standing in the room where the phone rang. The world outside is loud with its afternoon rush, indifferent to the fact that your heart stopped beating on a Tuesday three years ago.

It feels like a betrayal—that the sun dares to shine, that people laugh in the street, that time refuses to freeze just because your life did. You look at your hands and they seem foreign, stuck in the moment the light went out while everyone else kept walking.

But listen closely—the light did not leave when they died. It went underground.

It is holding you in this hollow, terrifying middle where nothing makes sense. You are not behind; you are exactly where the love that never ends is waiting for you to breathe again.