Under Construction

After the fire, nothing. No sobbing, no screaming, just that weird,

low static where your feelings used to live. You scroll, you shower,

you show up. You say “I’m fine” and it’s almost true— not because you’re

okay, but because you’re nothing. You think healing means sobbing in

the rain, but it’s really this: eating something, answering one message,

sitting in a room with yourself and not vanishing. Your heart isn’t dead,

it’s under construction. Scaffolding up, wet paint signs everywhere, whole sections closed

“until further notice.” It looks like failure from the inside. From the outside, from the future,