There are things
that break
and stay where they fell.

Not because they couldn’t be gathered.
Because you never came back
to pick them up.

Words you said
still sit in the air
where they were left.

Sharp.
Unclaimed.

Time moved forward
like it always does.

Things kept going.
Days passed.
The outside of life
holding its shape.

But inside
there are pieces
you never touched again.

An apology would have been
a beginning.

Not a sentence.
A return.

A willingness
to stand in what you did
without moving away from it.

To see it.
To name it.
To put something back
where you took it from me.

That never happened.

Instead
the damage you caused
was left
to settle on its own.

As if it might disappear
if you didn’t look at it directly.

So I learned
how to live around it.

How to step carefully
through places
that should have been restored.

How to carry
what was never mine
to begin with.

And the quiet truth
that remains now
is this:

not everything that breaks
stays broken

but everything you leave
without repair

becomes part
of the way I live.