The Girl Beneath My Yesterdays

No marble names,
no dates to mark the end,
just empty graves where our
unwritten tomorrows sleep.

Here lies the love that
nearly saved me,
the goodbye that
never found its tongue,
the thousand futures
I rehearsed in silence,
the songs we never lived
long enough to sing.

There lies a cemetery,
behind my eyes
where nothing has ever died,
yet everything I loved,
has learned to lie
beneath the earth.

I visit here when
the world is sleeping,
when even the time
stands still.
I bring fresh flowers
to our almost,
and leave them
where I buried you.

Sometimes, the wind
recites your promises.
Sometimes, the dead
call me home.
And sometimes, I hear
my younger self still ask
why she had to learn
to hurt alone.

I tell her that
the world is hungry,
that time devours,
what we cannot keep,
that even love can leave
a person homeless,
inside a heart they thought
was safe to sleep.

She doesn’t answer.

She only turns away
and walks between the graves,
searching for the little girl
I promised her I’d save.

And that is when the truth arrives,
quiet as the falling of the rain-
I have spent my life,
mourning everyone who left
while leaving myself,
behind the same.

So tonight, I bring
a different offering.
No roses. No prayers.
No tears to spill.
I kneel beside
the smallest grave,
and whisper
to the girl beneath it:

You can come home now.

The world is cruel,
but you are not required
to become it.
You have lost enough.
You do not have to
lose yourself;
to prove that what you
loved was real.
And somewhere,
beneath the earth
of all my yesterdays,
I hear a heartbeat
answer mine.

Perhaps healing
is not resurrection.
Perhaps it is
simply learning,
in time, that not everything
we bury is forgotten,
and not everything we lose
is a death sentence.

Some things must
remain unfinished.
Some doors must
never open again.

And some graves were
never meant for the dead-
but for the lives,
we must stop
waiting to begin.

- Benzy
- Oct 16, 2026
- 2:48 am