the weight of staying

“i don't leave rooms anymore. i just get quieter in them until someone thinks i've already gone. that's the trick i learned disappear standing still. let my voice go first, let my face follow after, until all that's left is a body holding a chair down. people confuse this for peace. they say i've grown calm, like calm was ever the goal and not just the shape grief takes when it runs out of room to be loud. i am not calm. i am just tired of being the only one who noticed when the leaving started. so i stay. not because i want to. because somebody has to remember what this room used to sound like before it learned to hold its breath.”