Let the dark be gentle

I wake beneath a ceiling
that won’t stay still,
counting the seconds
I’m allowed to keep.
The room exhales slowly,
like it knows something.
I don’t.

Every word I meant to say
waits just out of reach,
and the silence
is learning my name.

If I disappear tonight,
don’t call it surrender.
Call it the moment.
I stopped pretending I was strong.
I’ve been standing at the edge so long
the ground forgot me.

Your shadow moves without you,
crossing places
we never finished.
I trace the cracks in the dark,
looking for proof
that I was here.

The weight in my chest
isn’t fear anymore,
it’s gravity
finally winning.

If I disappear tonight,
don’t say I was broken.
Say the light grew too thin
to hold my shape.
I stayed as long as I could
inside the ache.

There’s a quiet
beneath the noise of breathing,
a door that never learned to open.
I’m not afraid of what comes next,
only of staying.

If I fade before the morning,
let the dark be gentle.
I am tired of asking the air
to keep me alive.
This isn’t the end,
just the point
where I let go.