The room is loud with hands and speech,And every hand is out of reach.They lock their fingers, tight and true,And hold a world that holds no room for you.You watch them turn, you watch them lean,The quiet space you move between.They have their harbor, safe and warm,A steady shelter from the storm.And then the heavy truth descends:The quiet start, the sudden ends.It is not distance, cold or wide—It is the turning of each eye aside.You see the shadow on the floor,The sigh that slips behind the door,The quick retreat, the tightened jaw,The heavy look of tired awe.You are not lost. You are not missed.You are an item on a list.A friction in the turning gears,A sound that rings of constant tears.No missing piece. No broken part.Just heavy weight upon a heart.The only truth left in the room:You are the problem, and the gloom

BTW im a crybaby

Random stuff acc: @𝗭𝘇𝘇ᏢϴͲՏ𝘇𝘇𝗭