Elixir

I've written so many versions of the same grief that I can barely tell them apart anymore. Letters never sent, conversations never had, apologise no one asked for. I wrote of rains, long after the clouds had forgotten my name. Stitching metaphors into my wounds as if poetry could hold blood. But the ache is silent now. It's gone. Or so I believe. For a long time, writing felt like survival. A way to keep the darkness organized. But somewhere along the way, Ig the need just disappeared. So this is the last letter. Not a poem, but a gravestone with no epitaph. So yes.... I will not write again. Not because I can't....but because I finally don't need to. Goodbye Signing off Kanishk