the dust has settled where our voices used to live,

and I’m still finding reasons I can’t forgive.

no grand collapse, no final sound,

just the quiet truth that brought it down.

we built a dream without a frame,

and watched it crumble all the same.

not rage, not ruin — just neglect,

the kind that time forgets to correct.

the walls are gone, but traces stay —

handprints faded into grey.

each corner hums a different tone,

like the house itself won’t leave me alone.

you never broke it; you just let it fade,

unspoken debts we never paid.

and in the silence, I finally see —

the wreck was half of you,

and half of me.

there’s no wind strong enough to shift this ground,

no echo left that wants to be found.

I stand in the space we couldn’t defend,

drawing blueprints

for something I might build again.