The Weight He Never Carried

He says it wasn’t all that bad,
just kids being kids, just foolish games.
But the silence still makes my ribs collapse,
and the echoes still whisper my name.

Just kids being kids, just foolish games,
he laughs, forgetting what he did.
And the echoes still whisper my name—
a ghost of the girl he made into his myth.

He laughs, forgetting what he did,
while I hold the weight he never carried.
A ghost of the girl he made into his myth,
still searching for the love he buried.

While I hold the weight he never carried,
he walks the world with weightless ease.
Still searching for the love he buried,
I wonder how it feels to breathe.

He walks the world with weightless ease,
his hands unmarked, his conscience clear.
I wonder how it feels to breathe
without a past that drags like fear.

His hands unmarked, his conscience clear,
he doesn’t flinch when he hears my name.
Without a past that drags like fear,
he calls it nothing—I call it shame.

He doesn’t flinch when he hears my name,
but the silence still makes my ribs collapse.
He calls it nothing—I call it shame.
He says it wasn’t all that bad.