My Parents Were the First to Leave Before You Did

Pain, I know you. Maybe better Than I know myself. You came into my life Before I knew How to pronounce your name. My parents Were the first to leave Before you did. My mother left And took a piece of me I still cannot find. She was my mother, But she was also My best friend. My confidant. The person I could tell things to Without worrying About how they sounded. When life became too much, I knew where to go. Her. Now when something happens, I still have that first instinct To tell her. Then I remember. She is gone. And that remembering Hurts all over again. Sometimes I wonder If grief ever gets tired. Because I am tired. Then there is my father. A different kind of pain. We were never close The way I wished we were. There were things I wanted from him That money could never buy. Presence. Understanding. A relationship That did not feel Like something I had to beg for. I loved him. I was hurt by him too. Both things can be true. And perhaps That is why losing people Has never felt simple to me. Some people leave And take memories with them. Some people leave And leave questions behind. Some people are gone, And some are still here But somehow Feel far away. Then there was you, Pain. You stayed. You stayed when Everyone else went home. You sat beside me On nights I could not sleep. You followed me Into rooms Where nobody knew What I was carrying. You watched me smile When I wanted to disappear From the noise of everything. You became so familiar That sometimes I forgot you were hurting me. I started calling you normal. I started calling Survival a life. I started believing That maybe this was Just who I was. A boy with too many memories And not enough answers. A son who misses his mother. A son who still carries The weight of a father He could never fully understand. A person trying to become Something better While wondering How much of himself He has already lost. Pain, you came after them. But you did not leave. And maybe that’s What scares me most. I don’t want to spend The rest of my life Talking about what I lost. I want to know What is left of me. Because somewhere beneath All this grief, I am still here. Still breathing. Still writing. Still asking questions I don’t know how to answer. Maybe that is why I keep writing your name. Not because I love you. Not because I want you. But because I am tired Of pretending You were never here. My parents were the first To leave before you did. My mother left With a part of my heart. My father left behind A story I still don’t know How to finish. And you, Pain, you stayed behind To remind me Of both. Maybe one day I will stop carrying you. Maybe one day Their absence Will hurt differently. But tonight, I will let myself miss them. I will let myself hurt. I will let the tears come Without apologizing for them. Because some pain Does not need to be defeated Tonight. Sometimes, It only needs To be heard.