The Day The World Adjusted

IMAGINE...The morning you decided to end your life. The alarm rings, your mother knocks, and silence answers for you. They find you later, and grief arrives loud, messy, unforgiving, raw and ugly. It isn't poetic- It collapses to the floor, waits at gate, and begs time to rewind. Your room becomes a shrine, then storage. Your empty seat is noticed, then replaced. They cry, they regret the words they never sent, and slowly, painfully, they heal. Your things disappear. Your place closes. You don't move on. You stay exactly where death left you Pain passes, Death doesn't.